


You Would Be So Nice

by skyscapes



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Universe, Denial of Feelings, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Mild Smut, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, They still fall in love, and yuuri trains with yakov, dual perspective, with some angst along the way, yuuri and victor meet as kids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:20:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24085744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyscapes/pseuds/skyscapes
Summary: When Yuuri Katsuki first met Viktor Nikiforov he was eight years old. Being the youngest skaters at the St. Petersburg rink, the two quickly become close friends.Yuuri never expected to fall for his best friend. Maybe he should have seen it coming, Viktor was beautiful both on and off the ice. (Can he keep it a secret? What would Viktor do if he knew? Would it hurt their friendship?)Viktor never expected to find someone he wanted to be honest with. Evasive as he was, Yuuri still trusted him for some reason. (But for how long? Can anyone really trust someone running from their past? Someone whose life is a stage?)(Could they possibly deserve a happy ending?)(Wouldn't that be nice)
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri & Victor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri & Yuri Plisetsky, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 21
Kudos: 71





	1. for you a thousand times over

**Author's Note:**

> First thing I'm writing in a while so here goes nothing. 
> 
> Huge shoutout to my beta reader, brokenpisces15 on tumblr who was incredibly helpful!!
> 
> feel free to yell at me on Tumblr, will probably be posting random stuff about this fic  here !  
> (not sure if the link works, so mu Tumblr is alexfinallywrites)
> 
> enjoy!

When Yuuri Katsuki first met Viktor Nikiforov, he was eight years old. 

Yuuri had been skating for a few years by then, encouraged by his ballet teacher Minako to pursue skating classes with the coach at Hasetsu Ice Castle. He had started taking group lessons with the other kids, but soon started taking private ones as he began to surpass his peers. Yuuri may not have been the most sociable, or the most popular amongst the other children; frequently he went unnoticed by most of the group. 

But no one could look away when Yuuri entered a spin on the ice. 

Yuuri was talented, and Minako could see it plain as day. She could also see that his talents were soon going to outgrow their small town. They simply didn’t have the facilities to help him nurture his skills. They needed help from a professional. Minako had travelled the world as a dancer, and while those days were long behind her, she still maintained an extensive contact list. One of those contacts was a former prima ballerina, the illustrious and magnificent Lilia Baranovskaya – who just so happened to be married to Yakov Feltsman, one of the most renowned figure skating coaches in the world. Minako wrote letters, shared videos, and stayed up late into the night discussing details about Yuuri’s skating. When Yakov finally accepted to coach Yuuri, she had run down to the onsen and yelled out the news in the middle of the lobby before promptly bursting into tears of joy. 

Yuuri was excited too, and spoke of little else during the weeks leading up to his departure, endearing and exhausting everyone around him. Eight was an awfully young age to be leaving home, but Yakov had promised that Yuuri would be able to visit Japan whenever possible. As Minako accompanied Yuuri on the flight to St. Petersburg, his family unable to leave the onsen to travel, he could hardly sit still. 

Upon arriving at the rink, Yuuri grew quieter. His eyes widened as he took in the high ceilings, the vast expanse of ice larger than anything he had known before. Minako knew that Yuuri got nervous easily, and being in a new place far from home where he didn’t speak the language was bound to be a nerve-wracking experience for anyone. She squeezed his hand gently and gave him a reassuring smile. 

They were not completely alone at the rink, however. Minako could see Yakov standing on the sidelines, nodding at them in greeting as they approached. On the ice was a young skater, not much older than Yuuri, probably just about the age to start competing at Juniors. The boy had long silver hair, tied back into a ponytail that flew out behind him as he moved. He was lean for a boy his age, his figure slight, delicate. His sequences across the ice were fluid and gentle, speaking of inborn grace. 

“Mr. Feltsman.” Minako said, smiling as she greeted Yakov. Yuuri was looking away, enraptured by the other skater, who had now finished his routine and was skating towards the rink barrier. 

“Miss Okukawa.” Yakov replied, his tone gruff but polite. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. This must be the boy, Yuuri?” Yuuri nodded nervously. 

“Welcome to Russia. I hope you both had a pleasant journey. We will begin training tomorrow at this rink. Yuuri will be living with me and Lilia, as we discussed previously. This is the other student I was talking about,” Yakov gestured to the silver-blonde boy, who smiled broadly and gave them a little wave, and said something in Russian. 

“Vitya,” Yakov reminded, “English.” 

The boy flushed a little. “Oh – sorry! Hi! My name is Viktor.” He smiled and reached out his hand, which Yuuri shook weakly. 

“I’m Yuuri.” He said, his voice quiet but a small smile beginning to appear on his face. 

“Vitya lives with me as well.” Yakov continued. Minako wondered privately why the other boy, who was clearly Russian, had to live with his coach rather than his family. Regardless, it would be good that Yuuri had someone his age here. “You will be staying for a few days, yes?” 

“I will. I will be here for a week.” Minako replied. “I just want to make sure that Yuuri settles in well.” 

Yakov nodded. “That will be fine. Let’s go to my office, there are a few things we must discuss. My wife is here as well, perhaps you two would like to talk? She’s quite familiar with your work…”

***

Yuuri and Viktor remained silent for a few moments as the adults made their way out of the rink. Minako had turned around to give Yuuri a final smile and a thumbs up before they left, leaving the two boys by themselves. 

“So…” the other boy, Viktor, began. “Yakov told me you’re from Japan?” Yuuri nodded. “That’s so cool!” Viktor exclaimed. “I’ve never been anywhere except here. Well… I used to live in Moscow when I was younger but that was before.” 

“Before…what?” Yuuri asked. 

“Before…” Yuuri couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw Viktor’s expression drop a fraction before he continued. Perhaps Viktor was homesick? “Before I met Yakov. Then I came to live with him in St. Petersburg so that I can skate.” 

“Do you miss Moscow?”

Viktor’s smile didn’t falter, but he turned ever so slightly away from Yuuri before answering. “No, not really.” Yuuri’s heart pounded. Did Viktor not like him? Did Viktor think he was lame? He didn’t know the right thing to say. Why were people so  _ hard _ ? Yuuri thought of how beautiful Viktor had looked when he was out on the ice. He wanted so badly to be able to skate like that… and to be Viktor’s friend. 

“I like the way you skate.” Yuuri said, so quiet that he wondered if Viktor even heard. A flush began to creep along his cheeks. 

But astonishingly, it seemed that Yuuri hadn’t said the wrong thing after all. Victor’s face immediately brightened and he leaned further over the barrier. “Do you really think so?” he asked excitedly. 

Yuuri nodded, willing himself to stop being so flustered. 

“Yakov says if I work hard I can compete in juniors next year, when I’m thirteen. I can’t wait!” 

Viktor’s excitement was infectious and Yuuri felt his smile widen. “That sounds cool.” Yuuri had thought Viktor didn’t like him that much, but maybe he was wrong about that? 

“I know!” A moment passed. “Wait… I want to see you skate too!” 

“Wha – me? No…I… I’m not as…” Yuuri took a step backwards. The last thing he wanted to do was embarrass himself in front of his new friend. There was no way he could skate as well as Viktor. He didn’t need Viktor’s first impression of his skating to be Yuuri falling face down on the ice. Yuuri couldn’t hope to measure up to the beauty he saw in Viktor’s every move. 

“Yuuuuuri…” Viktor tilted his head, his voice pleading and eyes sparkling. “Please? We can just skate the way we like for now.” 

Yuuri bit his lip. As much as he didn’t want to embarrass himself… would rejecting Viktor’s offer sound rude? Being rude would be even worse, he thought. Viktor might never want to speak to him again, and there was no way Yuuri was going to let that happen. He sighed, getting ready to embarrass himself. There was only one option. “Okay.” 

“Yes!” Victor jumped a little into the air, forgetting that he was still on the ice. He fell forwards as his skates slipped out from behind him, catching himself on the barrier just in time. Yuuri couldn’t help himself. He giggled, and then immediately clamped a hand on his mouth, feeling mortified. Viktor however didn’t seem to feel the same way as he burst out into peals of laughter. Yuuri let himself join in, finally relaxing and letting go of the tension in his shoulders. 

About twenty minutes later, Yakov and Minako found them spinning happily across the ice, laughing when one of them tried a particularly dramatic move and fell before getting back up again. Minako pursed her lips, containing a smile as Yakov yelled at them to get off the ice - Surely you would know better Vitya? Where were your manners? 

It seemed that Yuuri had made a friend. 

***

Yakov and Lilia had shown Minako to the guest room at their house where she would stay to watch over Yuuri as he got accustomed to life in Russia. Minako was getting ready for bed when she heard a knock at the door. She opened it to find Yuuri there in his pajamas. 

“Yuuri? Is everything okay?” she asked, concerned. 

“Is it okay if I stay here tonight?” he replied quietly. 

“Of course.” Minako let him in, and he sat down at the edge of the bed. Yuuri wrapped his arms around himself and hunched his shoulders. Minako sat down beside him and gently lay her arm across his shoulders. “What’s up?”

“I...I miss my room.” He shivered. “It’s so cold here.” Minako wrapped an arm around him.

“I miss mom and dad.” Yuuri continued. “I miss Mari and Yuko too.”

“I’m sure they miss you too Yuuri. You can call them whenever you like, for whatever reason. They’re your family Yuuri, and they will always support you – no matter how far away they are.” 

Yuuri nodded. Minako caressed his hair as she felt tears fall softly down his face. She held him in silence for a few minutes, giving him space to cry, but also trying to remind him that he wasn’t alone. When Yuuri cared about someone, or something, he cared deeply. That was why he had wanted to come to Russia to be a better skater - and why that decision had been so painful for him to make. 

“What if no one here likes me?” he said, his voice so quiet Minako almost didn’t hear him. 

“I’m sure your new rink mates will be friendly. I saw you skating with the other boy at the rink.” Minako said with a smile. Perhaps talking about his friend would make Yuuri feel better, show him that he could find a new family when he was so far from home. “He seemed nice. You two looked like you were having fun.” 

She could feel Yuuri smile. “He was. I liked his skating. I want to skate like that too…”

“I’m sure you can Yuuri.” 

“Mm…” Yuuri yawned. 

“Time to sleep?” Minako asked, and he nodded. 

As she lay in bed, Minako couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride and affection for her former student. Yuuri was young, but he was talented. More importantly, he was determined. She knew that the move to St. Petersburg wouldn’t be easy for him, but Yuuri had been excited to go. Despite feeling anxious and homesick, he had even befriended one of the other skaters. Viktor had seemed nice, she was sure they’d get along well. She glanced once more at Yuuri’s sleeping figure. Yes, she told herself, Yuuri Katsuki was going to be more than fine. 

***

At practice, Yuuri discovered that he and Viktor were the youngest skaters Yakov coached. Viktor explained that Yakov rarely took on students before they made their junior debut. So rarely, in fact, that he and Viktor were the only ones who fell into that category. As a result, they didn’t spend a lot of time training with the rest of the juniors who were busy putting together programs for that season. Instead, Yakov focused mainly on ensuring Yuuri was proficient in the basics. He watched Yuuri skate, giving him instructions on which moves to try next, assessing his skills and weaknesses. Yakov booked him an appointment with the rink's physiotherapist to find out more about what muscles he needed to strengthen. 

Much of his first day of training was spent doing drills with Viktor, with Viktor keeping up an animated chatter the entire time. He told Yuuri stories about Yakov, about how he had once been so angry when one of the senior skaters showed up for practice drunk, his face had turned red and stayed that way for the entire day (Viktor had added that he saw half of Yakov’s hair fall out at that moment, but Yuuri had his doubts about that one). He talked about his rink mates, pointing out Ivan Lebedev – Russia’s current top skater - with a reverent tone. He talked about the time he had got lost after practice, which had been terrifying then, but was hilarious in retrospect as he was only a block away from the rink. 

Yuuri knew he didn’t often get on well with kids his age, but with Victor he found himself laughing, and even joking back. They fell into an easy rhythm, training hard while also maintaining a cheerful banter between them. Yuuri found himself sharing a few stories of his own. He talked about the onsen where he grew up, his home always busy and full of noise. He talked about his mother’s katsudon which he already missed. Viktor was easy to talk to. He watched Yuuri intently when they spoke, and seemed genuinely interested in what Yuuri was saying. 

Close to noon, Yakov called for them to get off the ice. They were scheduled for dance practice with Lilia, and Yuuri had his physio appointment. As they began to make their way to the rink entrance, Viktor nudged Yuuri. Yuuri barely had time to register the glint in Viktor’s eyes as he said, “Race you?” and began to half skate, half sprint towards the entrance.

Sputtering out a protest at the unfair head start, Yuuri skated after him as fast as he could. They wove past the other skaters, some of whom had to jump out of their way to avoid a collision, both shrieking with laughter the whole time. As they neared the entrance, Yuuri felt himself speeding up, he prepared himself to overtake Viktor… before realizing he had grossly miscalculated and crashed into the other boy, sending them both tumbling off the ice in a tangle of skates and limbs. 

“What are you doing?” a gruff, dangerously low voice asked from behind them. 

When Yakov finally stormed off after a lengthy lecture about irresponsibility, morals, and dignity, Yuuri turned to find Viktor biting his lip, face downcast. Once their coach turned his back on them, Viktor smirked as he said, “I think I won.” 

“ _ You  _ won?” Yuuri said with a huff. “I’m pretty sure I fell off the ice first.”

“Pushing me out of the race doesn’t count. That’s cheating.”

“You didn’t mention any rules.” 

Viktor raised his arms in mock surrender. “Next time then. Just you wait.” 

***

Viktor and Yuuri shared a room at Yakov and Lilia’s house. While Yuuri spent his first few nights in Minako’s room, he soon grew comfortable with Viktor’s company. The room layout was simple: two beds, two chairs, two desks, one of each on opposite sides of the room. Yuuri learned that Viktor liked his own space, rarely crossing over to Yuuri’s side of the room, and never without asking. Usually, when they arrived back home after a long day at the rink, they were both too exhausted to do anything but lie in bed in companionable silence. 

This was not one of those times. 

“Yuuri?”

Yuuri groaned softly into his pillow. Sunday was their off day, and it seemed that being off the ice for too long made Viktor restless. 

“Yuuri, I was thinking… if you cut someone’s leg off… would it hurt?” 

Yuuri shook his head in disbelief and drew the covers of his bed further up his body. When he wasn’t exhausted, Viktor was an insomniac who asked inane questions at ungodly times of the night. 

“Of course it would hurt, you’re cutting off someone’s leg.” Yuuri replied sleepily. 

“Yes, but where would they feel the pain?”

A beat of silence followed. 

“You know… because their leg is…”

“Viktor, you should go to sleep.”

“But if you think about it –”

“I’m not thinking about it.”

“But if you did-”

“Nope.”

“ _ Yuuuuri!” _

__

“Good night Viktor.”

***

“Do pigeons have feelings?”

“ _ VIKTOR, IT’S TWO AM.” _

__

***

Viktor made his junior debut the following year, at the Grand Prix de Courchevel in France – the first event of the Junior Grand Prix Series. At thirteen, he was amongst the youngest skaters in the competition. In the months leading up to it, Yuuri had accompanied Viktor as they snuck out of the house after dinner to make their way to the rink after hours. Undisturbed, he watched Viktor practice his jumps for hours, growing accustomed to the sound of Victor’s body slamming against the ice, but gradually hearing it be replaced by the crisp sound of Viktor’s skates hitting the ice as he nailed a jump. 

In France, Yuuri and Viktor shared a room once again, with Yakov in the room adjoining theirs. Yuuri had assumed that due to jet lag, Viktor would fall asleep instantly. 

“Yuuri?” he heard a small voice call out. 

He was wrong about that. 

Yuuri turned over on his side so he was facing Viktor’s bed. The other boy was lying down the same way, facing Yuuri. Moonlight and streetlight illuminated Viktor’s face in ribbons of light and shadow. His long silver hair shone, as did his eyes which were wide and bright.

“I’m scared.” Viktor whispered into the darkness of the room. “What if I fall?”

“You’ll get back up and keep skating.” Yuuri told him softly, “And you won’t fall – you’ve practiced a lot. You won’t fall Viktor.” 

“What if they don’t like it? What if they don’t…” Viktor’s voice shook. “What if they don’t like me?” 

Yuuri couldn’t imagine anyone watching Viktor skating and not thinking it was beautiful. With Viktor’s hair flowing out behind him, spinning so fast he became a blur on the ice, the gentle movement of his limbs that conveyed an incredible depth of feeling… Viktor was almost angelic when he skated. 

Yuuri tried to find the words to explain, tried to show Viktor what he saw when he watched Viktor skate, and how everyone else would see it as well and know they were watching something –  _ someone _ – very special. 

But when Yuuri replied, his words felt too simple. Nevertheless, he meant every one of them. 

“I will still like you, Viktor.”

Yuuri heard Viktor sigh and give him a small smile. 

“Good night Yuuri.” He said, closing his eyes. 

***

The next day was the day of the short program. 

As they entered the stadium, Yuuri was reminded of how he had felt when he entered the rink in St. Petersburg for the very first time – except the stadium was ten times bigger and buzzing with the noise of the audience, the commentators and the sound of blades scraping the ice as the other skaters began their warm up. 

Viktor, who normally exuded confidence and barely bat an eyelash when being lectured by Yakov, looked like a deer in the headlights. His face was drawn and pale, constant chatter replaced by anxious silence. 

Yuuri reached out and squeezed his friend’s hand. Viktor turned to him, seeming surprised by the gesture. 

“Good luck Viktor,” Yuuri told him. “You’re going to win!” 

Viktor surprised Yuuri then, by throwing his arms around the other boy and burying his face into Yuuri’s shoulder as he held him tight. “Watch me. Promise you’ll watch me.” 

Yuuri let out a soft laugh as he hugged Viktor back. “Of course, I will.” 

The skater before Viktor was Kyong Yoo from South Korea, fifteen years old and the previous junior grand prix champion. Kyong stepped off the ice followed by thunderous applause from the crowd, many throwing flowers onto the ice as they congratulated him. Yuuri could feel Viktor tense as the scores were announced, sending Kyong straight into first place. 

The noise had barely died down as Viktor took to the ice, leaning against the barrier with his mouth set in a determined line as Yakov gave him a few final words of advice. When his name was announced, Viktor turned around to face the audience. He did a short circuit around the rink before settling into his starting position, head turned down and arms wrapped around his chest. 

The few seconds before the music started were the longest of Yuuri’s life. His hands clenched against the barrier, knuckles turning almost white, his heart beat so loud he wondered why no one else could hear it. 

Then Viktor began to skate. 

It was as though all the tension and worry melted away in a single instant. Viktor spread his arms out wide as he spun into action, a bright smile lighting up his features. Viktor’s theme for this season was “joy” and he was alight with it, pure joy written into every line of his body. The music rang through the stadium, fast-paced, yet light hearted. The routine spoke of the joy of companionship, of wreaking havoc on an ice rink, talking and joking until the sun rose, sharing mid-afternoon pirozhkis. 

Viktor’s joy was infectious. He caught Yuuri’s eye mid routine and winked. Yuuri grinned at him in response as he watched Viktor throw himself into a spin. Next up, a combination jump: triple axel and double loop. The crowd roared with approval as Viktor landed it perfectly. He tossed his hair back and raised his chin as he spun on one foot with the poise of a dancer. Viktor flew across the rink, the stadium lights dancing upon the shimmery material of his costume and his fine hair. His arms were outstretched and inviting as he glided forwards on one foot, back arched as he raised his other leg into the air. He gained speed, preparing for his next jump – the final one in the first half of his routine. 

Yuuri held his breath. The next one was a risky endeavor, one Viktor had debated including at all. But Viktor was Viktor and he couldn’t resist a challenge, couldn’t resist shocking everyone around him and possibly giving Yakov a heart attack. Yuuri had watched Viktor practice and fall for hours before he landed it for the first time. Now, finally, the moment of truth…

Viktor pushed off the ice, spinning one, two, three, and finally four times before landing perfectly, his arms raised in triumph. Yuuri clapped and yelled out encouragement as the shocked voice of the commentators described what had just happened. 

_ “A perfectly executed quadruple toe loop! Viktor Nikiforov of Russia making history in his junior debut as he is the youngest skater to have…”  _

“WHAT? VITYA!” Yakov roared, eyes bulging in fury at his disobedient student who was currently caught up in an intricate step sequence. His light footwork and gentle movements undermined his physical strength. Victor’s frame was lithe, imbuing every line of his body with a sense of grace and femininity. As he landed his final jump, Viktor moved into a layback spin – his back slowly bending into a perfect arch, hair dipping down past his waist. With one arm raised above his head, he used the other to bend his leg upwards, the tip of his skate just kissing his head as he spun. He came to a rest with his arms spread out in front of him, the most radiant smile on his face. 

Yuuri hollered and cheered with the rest of the audience while Yakov simmered in silence as Viktor made his way around the rink, waving at the crowd and basking in their approval. Viktor had barely made it off the ice before Yuuri threw himself into Viktor’s arms. 

“You did it!” he cried, “Vicchan! You did it!” 

Viktor laughed as he wrapped his arms around Yuuri. Yakov coughed and they broke apart. “I hope you realize what kind of idiot you are, Vitya.” He growled. Viktor looked up innocently as he put on his skate guards. 

“Who, me?” 

“A QUAD, VITYA? THE ONE MOVE I EXPLICITLY FORBID YOU TO DO. YOUR MUSCLES ARE STILL DEVELOPING AND YOU… OH, YOU THINK THIS IS A JOKE, VITYA? YOU FIND THIS FUNNY?”

After Yakov’s heated but brief tirade about the unique brand of stupidity Viktor possessed, the three of them sat in the kiss and cry for Viktor’s scores. The screen in front of them replayed Viktor’s quad in slow motion. Yuuri could see every shard of ice that scattered as Viktor landed, his face set in determination before morphing into shock and then pure unadulterated joy as he landed. Yuuri noticed the happy blush that colored Viktor’s cheeks as he watched his own history making jump, and felt pride swell in his chest. 

Finally, the judges finished calculating the scores. The entire stadium hushed as the announcer asked for the score of Viktor Nikiforov – 

_ What! _ , Yuuri thought as he heard the numbers, unable to react,  _ that means… _

__

_ “Viktor Nikiforov is currently in first place! His score beats the defending champion by three points!”  _

Viktor had already leapt to his feet and punched the air, smiling wider than Yuuri had ever seen before. Even Yakov’s eyes shone and he was nodding rapidly at the cameras – which was just his way of saying he was very, very happy. 

“Don’t take it easy Vitya,” Yakov reminded him once the cameras had turned away, “the free skate is where it counts.” 

“Yes coach!” Viktor replied, a grin still very much on his face. 

Yakov let out a rare chuckle as he patted Viktor on the back. “You did good. Rest for today. No more quads, yes?”

“Yes coach.” 

By the end of the following day, Viktor was standing on the podium with a silver medal around his neck. The sequins on his costume shone under the glare of the lights and cameras, creating a faint halo of light around him. Viktor’s eyes met his and Yakov’s and he waved excitedly, pointing at his medal as he did so. Even Yakov’s mouth twitched upwards slightly. 

Once Viktor had finished his interviews, he and Yuuri went off to the changing rooms to pack up. Viktor was still effervescent, almost glowing with happiness at his win. He waved his arms around as he spoke, eyes dancing. 

As they packed, Yuuri heard a group of low voices behind them burst into quickly hushed giggles. He turned, and found the eyes of several other competitors trained on them, their mouths turned upwards into not especially pleasant smiles. Viktor was also watching them, head cocked to one side in confusion. 

“Vicchan,” Yuuri said, tugging on the sleeve of Viktor’s jacket, “let’s go find Yakov.” 

“We… yeah.” Viktor muttered as he zipped up his bag. 

As they were about to leave the room, they heard a voice call out to them.

“Why do you look like that?”

Viktor froze. Yuuri saw his hand tighten over the strap of his backpack. He didn’t answer. 

Yuuri turned. A tall boy with messy brown hair regarded them coolly, an unkind smile on his face. Yuuri recognized him, although he didn’t know the other boy’s name: the bronze medalist, whose score had been just short of Viktor’s as he had fallen on a quad in his free skate. He was probably about sixteen, his costume was completely black, and resembling a suit which made him look older. Black sequins glinted dangerously from the boy’s shoulders as he took a small step forwards. 

“Like what?” Viktor asked quietly. Yuuri saw the other skaters huddled together, giggling before shushing each other, watching with bated breath as the action unfolded in front of them. 

The boy’s lips twitched and he smirked. “Well, like a girl.”

The others burst out laughing, as Viktor tucked a strand of hair behind his ear self-consciously. His face turned bright red and he kept his eyes trained on the wall in front of him, still not turning around to look at the boy who was taunting him. 

Buoyed by the support he received from the small group behind him, the boy took another step forward. “Maybe you should have competed in the ladies’ division then?  _ Avec ton petit-ami _ ?”

The laughter grew even louder. Yuuri clenched his fists and narrowed his eyes at the boy. How could they? How could they make his Viktor look so sad when he had been so very happy just moments ago? “Maybe you shouldn’t have competed at all.” Yuuri replied savagely, “After all, I didn’t see  _ you  _ with a silver medal.” 

The laughter cut off abruptly. The boy’s mouth hung open slightly in shock. Viktor looked at him, eyes wide. “Yuuri…” he began, but Yuuri was far from done. 

“Viktor is a better skater than you will ever be.” Yuuri continued, his voice harsh and cold, “He doesn’t need to prove anything to you.” 

He turned back to Viktor. “Vicchan,” he said firmly, “let’s go.” 

“Congratulations on your medal Mathieu.” Viktor called over his shoulder in a monotone as they left the other skaters behind, finally quiet. 

Viktor and Yuuri sat together in the back of a cab, with Yakov in the front as they made their way back to the hotel. Viktor had said he was tired, so he rested his head on Yuuri’s shoulder while they drove in silence. 

“Why did they say that,” Viktor whispered, still not looking at Yuuri, “Why did they say that about me?”

“They were being stupid.” Yuuri replied, “Don’t listen.” 

“Did you… do… do you think…” Viktor took in a deep, shaky breath before he continued, “Maybe I should have done better… maybe if I was better, they would have liked me.” 

“Vicchan…” Yuuri said, quiet horror filling his voice. “You were perfect. They were just jealous of you. You did amazing, the audience loved you.”

Viktor gave him a small smile, looking into his eyes for the first time since the encounter. “Really?” he asked. Yuuri nodded vigorously in response. 

“Well,” Viktor continued, smile growing, “you should have seen his face when you spoke back to him.” 

Yuuri giggled at the memory. “I can’t believe I said that!” 

Viktor laughed. “I’m glad you did.” 

***

The scrape of his skates sounded incredibly loud in the silence of the rink. Yuuri had only switched on a few lights, leaving the ice lit up but the surrounding stands swathed in darkness. He had accessed the rink after hours many times before, so he knew what to expect. 

Except… all those times he had been with Viktor. 

There was no music as Yuuri took his starting position. Now that his junior debut was less than a year away, Yakov had suggested that he take part in local novice competitions to get used to competing. They wouldn’t be a challenge, Yakov had assured him, mostly consisting of young skaters just excited to perform on the ice for the first time. 

Yuuri took a deep breath and began to skate. Eyes closed, he moved through the start of his routine. He kept the music at the forefront of his mind, allowing it to guide and shape his motion rather than the other way around. This was the bit he was good at, every movement of his hands, every turn of his head telling a story. The next part was the challenge. 

Yuuri pushed off the ice with the edge of his skate and spun twice in the air. He braced himself for the crash that he knew was coming as his feet swung in the air instead of touching solid ground. He landed on his side and rolled over, staring at the darkened ceiling of the rink. He lay there for a moment to catch his breath before getting back up to give the double axel another shot. 

He did a quick circuit of the rink to prepare himself. Glide forwards… take off on the edge of his skate and…

This attempt was even worse than the first. Yuuri barely managed to get in one rotation before he felt his body connect with the ice once more. Sighing, he pushed himself up to try again. It was going to be a long night. 

This was precisely why Yuuri didn’t want Viktor to come with him. He couldn’t bear for Viktor to see him like this. Viktor who skated so beautifully. Viktor who had just won silver at the world championships and at the grand prix in his first season as a senior. Viktor who had, at this age, tried to master a quadruple toe loop. And here was Yuuri, struggling with doubles. Doubles! 

Yuuri was confident enough in the performance and interpretation of his skating. Yakov had once noted that his step sequences could rival those of some of the older junior skaters. What frustrated him was how slow he was to pick up the technical elements, such as jumps. Viktor had had no difficulty in doing that, soaring across the ice as easily as he could breathe. 

With a crash, Yuuri hit the ice for a fourth time. He stayed down for a little longer. 

Yuuri didn’t want Viktor to see him struggling. He didn’t want Viktor to pity him, see him as weak or lesser because of his stupid,  _ stupid,  _ incompetence. Yuuri closed his eyes, remembering the first time he had seen Viktor skating.  _ I want to skate like that too _ , he had thought. 

Yuuri used the memory to push himself up. He glided over to the center of the rink and decided to try his routine from the top. 

Many young children in Hasetsu learned how to skate. There wasn’t much offered as entertainment for kids in their town, after all. Hasetsu Ice Castle was always bustling with over excited children giggling and slipping as they tried to stand up and move on the ice. Even amongst friends though, Yuuri was quiet, never knowing quite what to say or how to act, second guessing himself a second too long, before it was too late and the conversation had moved on, without him. Skating didn’t require speaking. He’d found himself wandering over to the rink whenever he was free, and was often the last person remaining on the ice, only leaving when the rink staff told him they needed to close for the night. 

He remembered how Yuko had laughed and clapped when he showed her a new trick he learned. They helped each other improve, meeting up almost every day after school to practice. Skating brought him to Yuko, the first person his age who he felt at ease with. 

And then skating brought him to Viktor, the best friend he had ever known. 

When Yuuri had felt alone, when he had no one, he had the ice. He had his skating. 

But if he didn’t have that…

Yuuri landed his jump for the first time, perfectly balanced as he glided across the ice. 

If he didn’t have this, then what was left? 

***

Viktor had seen Yuuri sneak out of their room three nights in a row. On the fourth night, he followed. He wasn’t totally sure where and why Yuuri left each night, but his guesses were proved right when he saw Yuuri headed to the rink: a small, twelve-year-old boy darting furtively across the street before creeping to the back entrance (a trick Viktor had picked up by observing some of the older skaters). 

Viktor went inside, hanging back in the shadows so that Yuuri wouldn’t see him. He still wasn’t exactly sure why Yuuri felt the need to do this. Yuuri was still too young to compete in junior tournaments, so he was taking part in lower level novice competitions in preparation. Viktor had breezed through his novice competitions, and he was sure Yuuri would do the same. Yuuri was leagues ahead of most skaters his age, both in performance and technical ability. His natural musicality was stunning, especially for someone still so young… 

Yuuri practiced without music.  _ He doesn’t need it _ , Viktor mused,  _ not when he skates like… _

Yuuri’s eyes were closed when he skated. His body leaned in towards the center of the rink, as he skated backwards. His arms trailed out in front of him, curving delicately upwards as though he was reaching for something just out of his grasp. He kept his knees bent slightly, pushing against the ice with one foot to gain more speed to enter a beautiful scratch spin.

_...like that _ .

Viktor was abruptly awakened from his reverie by the crash of Yuri’s body hitting the ice. His eyes widened and his hand reached out involuntarily as if he could break the fall. Moments later, Yuuri was on his feet once more and getting ready to attempt the jump again. The second time was no more successful than the first. The next time he tried, he fell again. Again. Again. Again. Viktor flinched every time. 

_ Why?  _ Granted, Viktor had done the same in preparation for his junior debut. But for Yuuri, that was more than a year away. He was still so small. It was highly unlikely that any of his novice competitors could land a single axel, leave alone a double. Surely, Yuuri must know this? They had discussed it with Yakov many times. Unlike Viktor, Yuuri had also been practicing alone, and if he got injured, no one would be able to help him until the following morning. 

The next time Yuuri fell, Viktor heard him let out a small grunt of pain. He stayed down for a few moments longer than he did before. Viktor gasped, horrific possibilities flooding his brain. 

But no… Yuuri was getting up again. Viktor sighed, relieved until he noticed one side of Yuuri’s face was bright red. Yuuri was breathing heavily, but the look on his face was one of steely determination. Viktor knew that look. 

“Yuuri!” he called out, coming out into the light. “Yuuri, stop, please!” 

Yuuri’s surprised expression quickly changed into one of horror as he realized that Viktor had been watching him. “ _ V-Viktor?”  _ he choked, aghast. 

“Yuuri, you’re going to hurt yourself if you keep going at this rate.” Viktor said as he walked towards the rink entrance. 

“Viktor…you… _ you  _ saw?” Yuuri asked incredulously. “You saw all that?” 

“I- yes? I saw you leaving and…” Viktor trailed off, the truth so obvious he couldn’t believe he had never even considered the possibility – Yuuri didn’t want him here. Viktor had been curious about what Yuuri was up to, and more than a little concerned for his safety. He hadn’t considered that Yuuri might not want to tell him something. He couldn’t understand why, not really, but clearly Yuuri hadn’t wanted him to see this. 

_ Well, shit. _

“Oh…” he managed, looking down at his feet, feeling embarrassed. 

He looked back up again, an apology already on his lips before he stopped short. 

Yuuri was crying.

Viktor could see the shine of tears against his skin, as Yuuri’s face crumpled, eyes growing large and filled with sadness and hurt. “I didn’t… you’d think I was bad…you…” Yuuri wrapped his arms around himself as he let out a sob, “I didn’t want you to… to see me like this.” 

“Oh God… Yuuri, please…” Viktor mentally berated himself for not having the foresight to bring his skates with him. He stepped onto the ice, holding onto the barrier and bending over slightly to maintain his balance and began to take a few steps towards Yuuri. 

“Viktor, what are you doing? You’ll hurt yourself.” Yuuri quickly skated over to where he was and held onto Viktor’s arm so he could stand up on the ice. 

“ _ You’re  _ hurt.” Viktor pointed out, “You need some ice on that… and you need to stop. At least take a break, please?”

Yuuri was silent for a moment before he nodded. They made their way off the ice and sat together, leaning against the rink barrier. Viktor’s arm around Yuuri’s shivering frame, and Yuuri’s head resting on his shoulder. Neither of them spoke for a while. Yuuri was the one to break the silence. 

“I came to practice my jumps. I wasn’t… I still can’t manage doubles.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor said gently, “most skaters still struggle with jumps at your age. It’s perfectly fine.”

“ _ You  _ didn’t.” 

Viktor tensed and looked at Yuuri. “That’s why? Because of… me?” 

Viktor was a good skater. He was a  _ really  _ good skater, and he knew it. Viktor had always pushed himself to be better, sometimes even slightly more than was necessary (much to Yakov’s chagrin). Viktor was used to putting on a show, to pleasing an audience, but if his actions had hurt Yuuri…

_ What have I done?  _

“I just didn’t want you to see me struggling. I didn’t want you to think I was bad… _ weak _ .” Yuuri swiped at his face angrily, frowning in frustration. “I didn’t want to let down Yakov and… and I can do better, I  _ can!” _

__

“Yuuri.”

“If only I tried harder, I could. But if I don’t, Yakov will hate me and I’d have to go back to Japan and I’d never see you again and I wouldn’t even be able to skate then so what’s the point -” 

_ “Yuuri!”  _ Viktor said sharply, cutting Yuuri off. “You must know that’s not true. I couldn’t, I would never think you’re weak. You’re an amazing skater, and you work harder than anyone else I know. That’s not  _ weak _ .” When Yuuri didn’t respond, Viktor pressed on, gently. “How long has this been going on?” 

“A while?” Yuuri said softly. “About a month, maybe? I just keep worrying about… stuff.” Yuuri sighed. “I don’t want to keep making mistakes. I want to do better, I  _ can  _ do better. I just need to work harder and then…”

“Not like this.” Viktor said, looking away for a moment, “Trust me, Yuuri. Not like this.” 

Yuuri looked at him quizzically. “What do you mean?” 

Viktor didn’t respond at first. He wasn’t quite sure how to explain. It was a feeling, gut instinct he had had for as long as he could remember. Throwing himself into everything he did, no holds barred. Losing himself in accolades and awards. At one point, skating had been a distraction from all that. A moment of silence just for himself in the white noise of everything else in his life. But maybe Viktor wasn’t allowed to be selfish enough to have something of his own. He still craved the sweet feeling of success. The thrill of performance, giving himself up completely to his audience. 

It was hard to explain what this meant and why it was necessary. He had barely noticed at first, but lately he wondered more and more often: had he given the audience too much this time? Had he pushed too far? 

Was there anything left just for him? 

The questions didn’t make sense, and reminded him of things he would rather forget. Moscow. The cabinet. The distance of his father and the frown on his mother’s face. 

Viktor wasn’t sure what he meant. But he knew that whatever he was doing, he couldn’t allow the same to happen to Yuuri. 

“You don’t have to keep trying to be better. Trying to be perfect.” Viktor murmured. “It’s too much to ask of anyone.” Yuuri tilted his head to the side, not following Viktor’s words. “You want to be the best, you want to be flawless, but Yuuri… is that what  _ you  _ really want? The ice takes so much. Sometimes, you just need to skate for yourself, instead of the audience and the judges. Just you, skating the way you like best. Beating yourself up, literally, isn’t going to help that.”

Viktor paused for a moment as Yuuri contemplated what he had just said. “And Yuuri… The people who care about you will never think any less of you. I can assure you, no one thinks you’re weak. You don’t have to do this alone. They’ll always be there for you.  _ I  _ will always be there for you. Okay?” 

Viktor felt Yuuri shift closer to him. “Okay.” He whispered back. 

Viktor gave him a small smile of reassurance, and they remained like that for a little while. 

“I noticed that when you jump, your take off is too steep. That means your body isn’t centered in the air, so you mess up the landing. We can work on that together if you’d like. Tomorrow, same time. Deal?” 

Viktor felt Yuuri’s answering smile. “Deal.” 

  
  



	2. your touch, your comfort, and your lullaby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! A few things I wanted to say first tho
> 
> THANK YOU to everyone who left kudos/ wrote comments/ bookmarked/ subscribed!!! Seeing that people liked this fic made my day and literally brought a smile to my face! I'm so glad y'all enjoyed chapter one! 
> 
> Shoutout to my wonderful beta reader, [brokenpisces15 @ Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/brokenpisces15) for her feedback <3
> 
> Trigger Warning - so there is some discussion of anxiety and panic attacks/ implied childhood trauma in this chapter. The descriptions are minimal, but I've added tags in bold in the text to mark out where those are so it's easier to skip them if you choose to do so.
> 
> Feel free to yell at me/ see me kinda gush over my favorite bits to write on my [Tumblr @ alexfinallywrites](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/alexfinallywrites) :)

Yuuri made his junior debut a year later, when he was thirteen. His first event was Czech Skate. Accompanied by Viktor (for moral support), Yuuri and Yakov travelled to Ostrava for the competition. The size and sheer number of people in the crowd was still as intimidating as it had ever been, though less overwhelming since Yuuri had previously attended competitions when Viktor was skating and knew what to expect. 

The competition was tightly stacked this year – the previous grand prix champion as well as last year’s world champion had both been assigned the same qualifying event. Not exactly a promising start for a young skater at his first major competition. Yakov had told him over and over again that there was no pressure for Yuuri to make it to the final this year, and no pressure for him to medal in his qualifiers. Logically, Yuuri knew this. Logically, Yuuri knew that no one would feel like he had disappointed them if he failed to medal. 

Well, no one except Yuuri, who had never been one for logic.

He avoided doing jumps during the six-minute warmup, as Yakov had instructed. He watched, fear crawling like a snake in his gut as several of his competitors showed off their triples. 

What was he doing here? Who was he to think he could compete with these people – the epitome of confidence, so certain of the crowd’s approval. So different from Yuuri himself, who wanted to crawl into bed and never subject himself to this again. 

To add on to the pressure, Yuuri was also meant to be skating first that day. Fortune was clearly not pleased with him. 

“Wish me luck?” he said to Viktor with a nervous smile (Oh he was  _ so  _ not ready for this). 

“You don’t need it,” Viktor said, his voice completely serious. His blue eyes were steady and calm as they looked at Yuuri, “I’ve seen you skate Yuuri, and I’m not an idiot.” 

Yuuri frowned, trying to understand if Viktor had just complimented him or not as Yakov nodded. “Don’t worry about jumps. Your PCS is very good, almost perfect.”

Then the announcer was calling his name, asking if Yuuri Katsuki could take to the ice. He skated to the center of the rink, feeling incredibly small. He barely glanced at the judges or the audience as he settled into his starting position. He looked up, eyes finding Yakov and Viktor one last time. Yakov looked the way he usually did, hat drawn low over his head and arms crossed. Viktor, on the other hand, was miles away from his usual, excitable self. He was standing completely still, leaning slightly over the barrier. His eyes were locked onto Yuuri’s – they acted as an anchor, grounding Yuuri’s thoughts and all his fears. He continued to meet Viktor’s gaze, trying to channel Viktor’s faith in him into his own skating. 

The music started, and Yuuri danced. 

_ That wasn’t bad _ , Yuuri thought to himself as he stepped off the ice. The landing of his final jump had been a little messy, and he wasn’t sure if he under rotated the loop but overall –

His thoughts were drowned out by an ecstatic cry of “YUUUURI!” as Viktor barreled towards him and pulled him into a crushing hug. “You were amazing! You did so good Yuuri! You were – you were so – wow!!” Viktor buried his head in Yuuri’s hair and hugged him even tighter. 

“V-Vicchan…” Yuuri choked, “Can’t… breathe… “

“For God’s sake Vitya, release the boy!” Yakov chided, and Viktor complied reluctantly but kept his arm entwined with Yuuri’s. “Let’s go get your scores.” 

It quickly became apparent just how “not bad” Yuuri had done. His eyes widened at the score – 62.91! That was high, that was very high. High enough that Yuuri claimed the top spot on the leaderboard and stayed there until the last of the short programs were completed. 

He couldn’t believe it. Of all the competitors,  _ he  _ was the one closest to winning a gold medal? It was too good to be true, it had to be. 

No one else seemed to think that. Viktor was talking nonstop about how wonderful Yuuri had looked on the ice (“And your step sequence! I almost began to cry Yuuri, it was so beautiful! And don’t get me started on…”) and even Yakov had given him a few words of praise. (“No stress for tomorrow, eh?”). Later that evening, Yuuri phoned his family who had watched his performance. They congratulated him, Minako’s enthusiasm almost rivalling Viktor’s. Did you know, they were going to be having a public viewing for the free skate! Everyone was so excited, who would have thought Yuuri could have done so well? 

Exactly. Who would have thought? 

Yuuri was no world champion. He was no Viktor Nikiforov, landing quads in his debut skate. There wasn’t anything special about Yuuri Katsuki. His short program performance was… luck. It had to be. With him it couldn’t be anything but.

What would happen if he messed up his free skate?

Yuuri thought of everyone at home watching him. The sacrifices his family had made to allow him to pursue skating. The expectations placed upon him as he represented his country on the ice. He thought of Yakov, opening his home to Yuuri, booking him private practice time at the rink close to competition. And there was Viktor. Viktor had always believed in him, even when Yuuri didn’t believe in himself. Viktor, who accompanied him to every practice, who always waited for him off ice with a smile. 

He thought of all the people in his life waiting for him to succeed. All the people waiting for him to prove himself to them. It was too much.  _ It was too much.  _

Streetlight filtered in through the curtains in narrow bands. A beam of soft white light fell across one of the beds in the room. If anyone had been watching, they would have seen a small boy with dark hair, wide awake and staring up at the ceiling. They would have seen him lying completely still, as though he were standing in the spotlight, moments before a performance that would never come. 

***

Yuuri was restless and exhausted at the same time. Sleep had come in fitful bursts, he had spent much of the night worrying about the following day’s performance. When he awoke in the morning, he found himself shaking. Yuuri refused to eat, only nibbling on an energy bar on the way to the stadium. The tension was palpable, both Viktor and Yakov seemed to catch on to Yuuri’s nervousness and remained silent. 

During the warm up, Yuuri tried his double axel. He only managed one rotation before tumbling onto the ice in an ungraceful heap. Yakov didn’t say anything to Yuuri about not following his instructions about doing jumps in warmup, and only pursed his lips when Yuuri came off the ice. 

**Description of anxiety/ panic attack from here**

_ He must be really upset with me,  _ Yuuri thought, embarrassed. His nerves had ruined the second day of competition for everyone. Due to his high short program score, Yuuri was going to be skating last. He watched the first two performances, both clean skates. Two high scores. One personal best. 

Who was he kidding? 

Yuuri didn’t want to be seen, he couldn’t bear for anyone to look at him with hope and encouragement in their eyes because he knew he was going to let them down. He  _ knew _ . He was walking, pacing, moving. He couldn’t stand still. He had to find someplace. Someplace with no one else. Where no one would be able to watch him fall apart. An empty practice room. He couldn’t remember the path he had taken to get there. It didn’t matter. The room was a bit dusty, clearly unused. Even better.

Yuuri collapsed onto his knees, leaning his forehead against the cool surface of the wall as he took in deep, ragged breaths. He squinted his eyes shut tight. Hands clenching, nails biting into his palms. His heart hammered in his chest. He felt like any moment now he would explode into a million pieces. A voice inside himself was screaming that this was impossible, he couldn’t, couldn’t,  _ couldn’t _ – 

**to here**

Yuuri wrecked his free skate. They left before the medal ceremony. 

***

“Yuuri.”

Yakov sat down on the bed next to Yuuri. Viktor had been sent outside on some errand. It was clear his coach wanted to talk to him alone. 

“I’m sorry Yakov-sensei.” Yuuri said quietly, curling into himself in shame. 

“What happened?” Yakov asked gently. He didn’t sound angry or disappointed… just worried. Yuuri wondered how his family would react. 

“I- just…” Yuuri trailed off, unsure how to explain the storm that had raged through his head before his skate. “I was so scared. I was so scared I would mess up.”

Yakov nodded. “Has this happened to you before?”

“Sometimes.” He glanced at Yakov, still feeling incredibly guilty for his poor performance. He had expected Yakov to be angry, to berate him for hours for his childish fears. Yakov Feltsman was not a gentle or quiet man by any means. He was quiet now. “Is there… there’s something wrong with me, I don’t know why-”

“No.” Yakov interrupted. “No, Yuuri. There’s nothing wrong with you. I have been coaching for more than a decade now, you are not the first skater I have seen like this.” He paused. “It is possible that you may be having troubles with anxiety, and that affects your performance. It is nothing to be ashamed of Yuuri. If you had a broken leg, would you be able to skate well?” Yuuri shook his head. “Precisely. You would take care of it. You would rest and make sure it heals. The problems here,” Yakov said, tapping Yuuri’s head, “are no less important than the problems here.” He tapped Yuuri’s knee. He paused, allowing Yuuri to think about what he had just said. 

“There is a specialist I know.” Yakov continued. “She is used to working with athletes. When we go back to Russia, you can see her. Maybe she can help you. Yes?” 

Yuuri smiled. “Yes.” 

Yakov patted his hand. “That’s good…” 

They heard the door swing open noisily and both turned towards the sound. Viktor stumbled into the room, weighed down by a massive floral arrangement that filled his arms. He also carried a dog plushie that was almost as big as Yuuri himself. Viktor grinned at their shocked expressions. 

“Surprise!” 

***

“But you said I should get something to cheer him up!”

“I meant get him something to eat perhaps, Vitya! Not for you to buy out an entire goddam florist using my wallet! How will we take these on the plane?” 

“Ah… I suppose that makes sense. But, look! He likes them! Yuuri, do you like the flowers?”

“They’re lovely Vicchan.” 

“See? No problem!” 

“Bah! You will be the death of me Vitya, mark my words.”

***

“Tuck in your elbows more next time!” Yuuri nodded as he got to his feet once more. “Just two more times Yuuri, and then we stop.”

At Yuuri’s insistence, Viktor had begun helping him with his quads. It was almost halfway through the skating season and Yuuri had improved quickly, now able to consistently land triples in competition. Many of the older junior skaters used quads in their routines. If Yuuri hoped to remain competitive, he had to get used to landing them – and like with any jump, that meant he had to first get used to falling. A lot. 

That was just what happened on his next attempt. He got enough rotations in, but his feet weren’t in the right place and he fell, rolling over on the ice. He sighed, and skated over to where Viktor was waiting with a bottle of water and a towel. 

“Hm, I think you’re still spending too long in the air. Try tucking in your head more next time, you want to make yourself as narrow as possible.” Yuuri nodded. “Take a break first. Then do some figures and try again. We’ll call it a day after that.” 

They stood together in silence as Yuuri caught his breath. 

“How is Doctor Petrova?” Viktor asked after a few moments. Lia Petrova was the psychologist Yakov had taken Yuuri to. He had been seeing her for a few months, and had skype sessions with her when he was away at competition. She had prescribed Yuuri some anxiety medication to take at competitions. Initially, the pills had embarrassed Yuuri but Yakov insisted he take them. With his nerves quietened, Yuuri’s performances improved drastically. He had won a bronze medal in his second qualifier for the grand prix, although it hadn’t been enough to push him through to the final. 

“She’s good. She’s really nice.” Viktor nodded encouragingly. “I… I felt better after talking to her.”

“That’s good!” Viktor smiled briefly. “Now that you’re getting help, you should be getting better, right?” Yuuri nodded. “You know… we didn’t talk much about what happened that time, in Ostrava.” Viktor said carefully, “Would you like to tell me about it?” 

Yuuri had avoided talking about his panic attack before the competition. Despite Yakov’s and Doctor Petrova’s assurances, it still felt like an admission of weakness. It still felt childish to say that sometimes he couldn’t control his own thoughts. However, his family had responded with nothing but love and concern after the competition, and been incredibly supportive about him attending therapy. And this was Viktor - his best friend. Nerve-wracking as it may be, Yuuri wanted him to know. He didn’t want to hide anything. 

He took a deep breath. 

“I just… I just get really nervous sometimes. I feel so afraid. Sometimes there isn’t a reason, I just feel that there’s something  _ wrong  _ and I’m filled with dread waiting for it to happen. Before competitions I always thought… what if it was all just luck? Just a fluke? And… what would people think if I failed? I’d be letting everyone down. And then I… I mess up.” 

Yuuri turned away from Viktor before continuing, “I always thought of it as weakness.” He murmured, “I never wanted anyone to see me in that state because I thought they would think less of me.” 

He felt Viktor’s hand above his and looked down. Viktor’s thumb gently caressed his knuckles, moving in a soothing circular motion. “How could I possibly think any less of you, Yuuri?” Viktor asked softly, carefully, “I’ve seen you skate more than anyone else has, so you can trust me to be a fair judge on this. You’re  _ good _ . You skate like you’re making music.” Yuuri flushed a little at the praise. He looked up and Viktor met his gaze, blue eyes looking into his brown. 

Viktor had very striking eyes. It was a fact Yuuri had always known, but never been particularly aware of until this moment. They were the color of ice in the early morning, when light had just begun to filter in through the windows but the sun hadn’t really risen yet. They stood out, bright against the pale silver hair that fell around his face. 

“I think I’d still get nervous.” He said with a small laugh.

“You’re beautiful when you skate,” Viktor said, his eyes completely sincere, “you have nothing to fear. You could never be lesser for this.” 

Yuuri pushed back to skate several figures around the rink, and prepared himself to attempt the jump one last time. 

Viktor’s eyes really were pretty something. 

***

Viktor celebrated his seventeenth birthday at the rink. Fourteen-year-old Mila had joined their rink earlier that year, and assumed the responsibility of celebrating everyone’s birthdays. No one had any complaints about this arrangement, and Mila saw to it that everyone got a banner, a cake with their name on it, and the promise that whatever happened that night at the rink stayed at the rink. 

Viktor was half convinced the girl had a direct pipeline to God as she had managed to do the impossible and sweet talk Yakov into finish training much earlier than usual (albeit with a lot of complaining) so that there was time to celebrate Viktor’s birthday at the rink, and afterwards the skaters could return home to celebrate Christmas with their families. It was a thoughtful gesture, Viktor couldn’t remember the last time a birthday party had been thrown in his honor. Most years, he exchanged gifts with Yuuri, and Yakov passed around shots of vodka at the dinner table to toast to another year. Yakov had a penchant for vodka that tasted akin to paint remover, but it was the thought that counted.

There was enough cake for everyone to have seconds. Someone had hooked up their phone to the speakers in the rink, blasting out upbeat pop music as people began to dance. Viktor stayed with Yuuri, Mila, and Georgi, occasionally stepping away from the dancing crowd to catch their breath, their voices bright with laughter. A few skaters had taken to the rink again, dancing on the ice in their skates. Viktor turned to Yuuri, who already had a grin creeping onto his face, as though he knew what Viktor was suggesting. “Shall we?” 

They put on their skates and Viktor took Yuuri’s hand and led him to the ice. They held hands as they completed a circuit of the rink, getting accustomed to skating in tandem rather than individually. They quickly fell in step with each other, they had trained together for years after all. Viktor knew how Yuuri skated. Yuuri had been a dancer before he took to skating, and it showed. He fell into sync with the music almost instantly. Yuuri skated backwards, leading them as they made their way across the rink. Viktor followed willingly. Yakov wasn’t exaggerating when he said that Yuuri’s PCS was almost perfect – he outshone almost all the other junior skaters in that department. Absentmindedly, Viktor wondered how that would play out in the senior division. Many talented junior skaters found it hard to adjust and stay competitive, as they no longer had technical prowess over their peers. Yuuri however, had never depended on the technical aspects of his skates: he focused on the artistry, the story behind the program. 

They communicated through gestures, through the weight of their hands. They moved into a spin at the same time, hands separating for an instant, before being entwined again as they moved off. “Triple axel?” Viktor whispered. Yuuri nodded, that was one of his better jumps. They let go of each other, gaining speed as they went into the jump, both still moving in perfect synchrony. Mila and Georgi cheered from behind them. “Show Offs!” Mila called out and Yuuri threw his head back and laughed, spinning around to face Viktor. 

Yuuri’s eyes sparkled when he was looking for answers or lost in thought. Viktor wondered what he was thinking about now. What could possibly make his eyes glow like that? 

The night was perfect. Almost perfect. 

When he was younger he waited for his parents to call. Send a letter. Text. Anything really, anything to suggest that they still remembered. Viktor had long since stopped waiting and wanting for some kind of communication from his family. The closest he got was the cheque that Yakov received from them at the start of every month. It always felt strange, thinking about that. He felt like he was being pawned off, his parents paying someone else to look after him as if they didn’t want to. It wasn’t the truth, not exactly, but it had elements of the truth and it hurt. 

Viktor’s expectations for himself were higher than anyone else’s, he rarely accepted a performance that was anything but his best. But this, talking and dancing and laughing with his friends, memories of the past only a vague presence at the back of his head, this was more than he could have ever hoped to deserve. So just this once, he accepted almost perfect.

***

_ It’s like he was in two places at once,  _ Yuuri thought to himself. Viktor was very much  _ here,  _ skating and dancing with him, weaving in and out of the others on the ice. Yet… his eyes flicked away from Yuuri’s occasionally, retreating to some place no one could reach. 

Yuuri couldn’t help but feel slightly concerned. For years, he’d watch Viktor hourly ask Yakov if he’d heard anything? Letters? Phone calls? He had seen Yakov shake his head slowly, not even bothering to tell Viktor to stop pestering him and focus on practice. It wasn’t something Viktor was open to talking about. He preferred to grieve by himself, quietly. 

Over dinner, Yakov passed around shots. Yuuri swallowed weakly, the liquid burning his throat even though Yakov had watered his glass down. Viktor downed his in one smooth motion. He didn’t even flinch, his expression didn’t change in the slightest as he lowered his glass. His face was blank, removed and (if Yuuri didn’t know any better) indifferent. 

As Yuuri left for his room, he caught Yakov pulling Viktor into an awkward embrace. Viktor relaxed into his coach’s arms, the smallest of smiles appearing on his face. Yakov said something that Yuuri didn’t catch, Viktor nodded slightly and Lilia looked on at him affectionately. 

Viktor might be willing to shirk away from the issue. Might be willing to bury the past and wince internally while keeping a frozen smile on his face whenever someone brought it up again. But he deserved better than that. He deserved for Yuuri to try, at least. 

It was dark, and they were both in bed when Yuuri called out. 

“Vitya?” 

“Yeah?”

“What… What happened with your parents?”

Silence. Yuuri thought he heard Viktor inhale sharply. 

“You don’t have to,” Yuuri added, “but if you want to…”

The words hung in the air between them. Viktor didn’t answer for a while. Yuuri waited in silence. He was about to accept the rejection of his offer when Viktor spoke. 

“I came to Yakov when I was nine.” Viktor said, his voice sounded tense, as though he was fighting to keep it steady. “I lived with my family in Moscow until then. When I decided I wanted to pursue skating, I moved here with Yakov.” 

**Implied Childhood Trauma** **from here**

That was the script. The official story shared with the media. But Yuuri knew there was more. “Why did you leave?” Yuuri asked. 

Another pause. “At… my old house, we had a cabinet. A trophy cabinet,” Viktor drew in a long, shaky breath. When he spoke, it was in a monotone. “I used to do gymnastics before I skated. I was very good. I won a lot of competitions. My mother dusted the cabinet every day, and she polished every medal until they shone. I remember, one time I tripped over something and I fell into the cabinet. I upset one of the trophies. It fell. It didn’t break, but the edge was chipped. When my mother saw it she… was very angry with me. She told me that they were valuable, that I needed to be more careful. What if I broke it?” Viktor paused again before he spoke. “I wouldn’t have minded. I didn’t enjoy gymnastics much.” 

“I hated that cabinet,” Viktor said, his voice small. “Hated it. It was important to my parents, sometimes I thought they saw nothing else.”

Yuuri turned towards Viktor, mouth slightly open in shock. What could he say to help? What could he say to heal that? 

**to here**

Viktor let out a choked sob. It was quiet. Stifled. Then another. Another. 

Yuuri got out of bed and crossed over to Viktor’s side of the room. He sat down on Viktor’s bed. Viktor’s eyes glistened with tears when he looked up. He gave Yuuri a trembling smile, like he was trying to laugh it off. Yuuri gently carded his fingers through Viktor’s hair and Viktor stopped trying. He looked at Yuuri, his face ashen and raw with emotion. It was the most honest as Yuuri had ever seen him.

“I’m sorry,” Viktor whispered, “I’m sorry it’s not enough. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more, not yet I –”

“It’s okay.” Yuuri replied. Viktor would reach out when he was ready, and Yuuri would still be here waiting for him. “And for the record, I see you Vitya. Not your medals, just you. Just Viktor.”  _ And you’re beautiful. You couldn’t be anything else if you tried.  _

Viktor reached out, touching Yuuri’s wrist softly. “Stay here?” he asked, sounding uncertain.  _ Stay here. Stay close to me.  _ Like that would ever be too much for him to ask. 

Yuuri lay down beside Viktor. He enveloped the other boy in his arms. Viktor buried his face in Yuuri’s chest, holding on to him as if he would drown if he let go. 

***

Yuuri seemed to be noticing a lot of things lately. More specifically, he seemed to be noticing a lot of things about Viktor. He noticed that, as deftly as Viktor could fake a smile, the difference was almost instantly recognizable when Viktor’s smiles were genuine. His face lit up, the corner of his eyes crinkling. He became a light source in his own right. 

He noticed how Viktor spoke with his arms when he was excited, frequently injuring some unfortunate passerby in his joy. He moved constantly, bouncing his knee when he sat, or trailing his fingers idly over the surface of his chair or table. On the contrary, when Viktor focused, he stilled. His gaze turned still, grounding. He noticed Viktor biting his lip gently as he painted Yuuri’s nails (“Please Yuuri! I can’t be the only one!”), his mind entirely absorbed in the task. He held Yuuri’s hand in his, gentle, steady so the polish wouldn’t smudge. It matched Viktor’s own nails perfectly. 

When Viktor handed Yuuri his phone, asking him to record Viktor doing a spin, Yuuri noticed how he pulled his hair into a low ponytail before skating. He noticed the way his hair billowed out behind him like quicksilver, the entirety of his body turning into one smooth, continuous flow. Viktor leaped, free leg extended, one hand raised over his head and spun – all long limbs and lean muscle. Yuuri couldn’t look away if he tried. By the time Viktor slowed and stood up, flushed and breathing heavily, asking if the video had come out okay, Yuuri’s mouth had gone dry. 

The pieces came together slowly, and Yuuri wasn’t sure if he liked what he saw, so he closed his eyes to the possibilities. He pushed away the thoughts and smiled, telling Viktor that the video was fine, would he like to check?

Viktor had stood next to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. He noticed it’s warm weight through his shirt. Noticed the gentle beat Viktor’s fingers drummed against his skin without thinking. Noticed Viktor’s small smile as he said yes, it was perfect. Just what he wanted. 

***

In the moments before the music had started, the entire stadium collectively held its breath. Viktor’s right leg was bent back slightly, head turned down, one hand by his side, and the other over his heart. He could feel the beat of his pulse under his fingertips, amplified due to the hush that had descended upon the audience. The first few notes of the music began to play. He raised his head, slowly lifting his eyes, dragging his gaze across the stands as though he was searching for something. He pushed back gently, allowing his free hand to reach out in front of him. Yearning. 

It was Viktor’s second time at the World Championships Final. His theme this year was “love”. It was an unusual choice for him, a more mature theme that younger skaters often avoided. The press had certainly said many things about it. Then again, that was precisely why Viktor had chosen the theme. 

Viktor lived for the ice. He had started high school but dropped out so that he could focus on his skating. He loved feeling like he was flying when he jumped and span. He loved turning himself into a story, a piece of art. He loved giving himself up to the applause of the audience. As for the niggling voice as the back of his mind that asked him if he was sure, if he knew where this was headed? It was drowned out with the cheers that accompanied every standing ovation. 

As a result, he had very little time for things that did not concern skating – life, love, and the such. It didn’t seem like he needed much of them anyway. He had Yuuri, his best friend who loved skating as much as he did. He had Yakov, his coach who had seen him through so much he was practically family. He even had Makkachin, as Yakov had finally relented to his pleas and allowed him and Yuuri to adopt a puppy. He could keep them close, but not so close that they could see past his defenses, and that was fine. 

The crowds cheered as he landed a difficult combination jump: quad salchow, triple axel, triple loop. He heard the satisfying noise of his skates hitting the ice cleanly each time.  _ Perfect _ , the commentators were saying,  _ beautiful. _

__

***

It certainly was beautiful. 

Viktor’s theme had been love. Yuuri could see Viktor’s love for the ice reflected in his skating. Every move, every transition as smooth as silk was the result of countless hours at the rink. Talent honed by passion. 

***

Viktor had all that – and he had this too. What more could he ask for? 

So, no, Viktor didn’t know all that much about love. He’d heard plenty. He’d even cried over it when he watched the soap operas that Yuuri teased him relentlessly about. It seemed like a nice idea. The thought that there was someone who could care for you unconditionally, someone who could match you move for move, someone who, when you reached out, met you where you were. It was a nice thought. So Viktor skated about love, even if he didn’t know all that much. 

What he  _ did  _ know however, was skating. How to enthrall an audience. How to make sure they never, ever looked away. Viktor moved into a biellmann spin, drawing his leg up above his head and arching his back to meet the tip of his skate. It wasn’t a move many male figure skaters could pull off, demanding a high degree of flexibility. Another one of his surprises. Viktor idly wondered what the press would say. 

Viktor soared across the ice, face tilted upwards, a smile playing on his lips. He turned, moving backwards on one foot. One of his hands gently touched the side of his face, while the other reached out to the audience, as he had done in the start. His heart pounded as he gained speed, tensing slightly for what came next. 

He spread his arms out for balance and pushed off the ice with his toe pick. He leaped and his hair whipped around his face. He spun four times before landing with a smile, one leg still extended behind him. The crowd went wild and the voice of the commentator boomed, saying that he was the youngest skater to have ratified the quadruple flip in competition. 

It was certainly a strange contrast, Viktor mused as he worked through the step sequence. The subtle grace and elegance of his choreography and the raw power behind the flip. Two sides of the same coin, combining to make art. It was a paradox embodied in his costume as well – a half skirt flaring out on one side, and roughly cut gems sewn onto the other. Delicacy and strength, beauty and power, masculine and feminine. He was both and he was neither, all at once. An impossibility brought to life. 

He hoped Yakov wouldn’t mind too much about the flip though. Yakov insisted on taking it slow with the quads – but where was the fun in that? 

***

He’d nailed all his jumps, of course. This was Viktor. Skating was his life source, his blood. He was a natural performer, in so many different ways.  _ You give the audience so much of yourself every time.  _

__

But that was just his Viktor. All or nothing.

***

Viktor was the last to take the ice for the free skate. He sat with a still glowering Yakov (“Foolish child! You will never listen! A flip, Vitya? You are trying to kill me?”) and Yuuri. Yuuri squeezed his hand tightly as they waited for his score.

Viktor blinked. The roar of the crowd felt muted suddenly, overshadowed by the sound of his heart pounding in his chest. 

_ “Ladies and gentleman - in first place, representing Russia, Viktor Nikiforov!”  _

Yuuri pulled him to his feet, his face lit up as he cheered with the rest of the audience. Viktor pulled him into a hug and spun him around, laughing and screaming and giddy with pure joy. He looked over to Yakov who was clapping enthusiastically. Viktor felt tears prick his eyes, he had never seen his coach so emotional before. 

Viktor stood at the top of the podium, a senior division gold medal in his hands for the very first time. He held up his medal for the cameras and the audience, waving and laughing when he spotted Yuuri who beamed back at him.

Viktor Nikiforov was seventeen. The world was at his feet, and he had just made history – again. 

Really, what more could he want? 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter title is a lyric from "Ease" by Troye Sivan. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please leave kudos/ comment if you enjoyed this!! (Seriously, reading comments is the best feeling) Or hit me up on [Tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/alexfinallywrites)
> 
> Chapter 3 will be completed and posted next week - Saturday, 23 May :)
> 
> EDIT: so I added this on Tumblr but forgot to include it here so... I am so so sorry for the late update! Real life has been getting in the way of things (plus a horrible case of writers block last week) so I was pretty unsatisfied with the draft of chapter 3 I had written. I am working on it, and I definitely will be updating this fic asap! tysm <3


	3. looking at the moon/ but I'll be seeing you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slams door open* GEUSS WHO'S BACK, BACK AGAIN
> 
> SO um. I think an apology is in order for the super long gap since the last update... heh. oh well... it do be like that sometimes. and by "like that" I mean writers block and sharing your laptop with your sister. oof. 
> 
> anyways - in good news I was able to do a more thorough outline for the next few chapters! so it is unlikely there'll be another big gap anytime soon! my target is still to update weekly, and hopefully I will be able to stick to that this time. (but whether or whether not that happens, this fic will be completed EVENTUALLY so hang in there and thank you in advance!!) 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who left comments, bookmarks, subscribes, kudos etc. seeing that made my day :') HUGE shoutout to my beta reader [brokenpisces15 @ Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/brokenpisces15) who gave me tons of great feedback and helped me get unstuck!!
> 
> feel free to come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/alexfinallywrites) at anytime about stuff. 
> 
> alrighty! on with the chapter, enjoy!

“Fetch!” Viktor cried out, throwing Makkachin a stick. She barked and bounded away from them to retrieve it. Yuuri smiled as she dropped the stick at her masters’ feet and looked up at them, seeming proud of herself. 

“Good girl!” Viktor cooed, dropped to his knees and rubbed Makka’s head. “Clever girl! Soft girl, so soft…”

Yuuri laughed and joined him on the ground, he wrapped his arms around the poodle and buried his face in her warm fur, sighing in comfort. He’d been living there for years but he still hadn’t got used to St. Petersburg’s wicked winter. He shivered as the wind picked up and blew straight into his face. 

“Cold?” Viktor asked. 

“Yeah.” Yuuri shivered. “How are you doing this?” he asked, waving a hand over Viktor’s outfit. Viktor had stepped out of the house wearing a T-shirt and jeans, with a coat thrown on top like an afterthought. Yuuri, on the other hand, had layered up in sweatshirts, overcoats, gloves and the cat-eared beanie Viktor had got him as a birthday present, despite which he was still freezing. 

Viktor shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s a talent, I suppose.” Yuuri rolled his eyes. “I’ve lived here all my life, it takes some getting used to.” Viktor tilted his head, a mischievous glint in his eye. “You could consider this practice.” 

Before Yuuri could ask him what he meant, Viktor stuffed a handful of snow down the back of his neck. Yuuri shrieked, the cold snow biting into his skin. He turned to Viktor in horror. 

Viktor bit his lip to stifle a laugh, trying to look as innocent as possible. “Oops.” He said unconvincingly. Yuuri glared at him. He couldn’t let that slide. He took a determined step forward, digging his fingers into the snow. Mari was a merciless opponent when it came to snow fights, Yuuri had been forced to defend himself from her attacks many times before. Viktor wouldn’t know what hit him. 

They spent the next ten minutes hurling snow at each other, yelling when it made contact with their bare skin. Occasionally Makkachin would leap in between them in excitement and get hit, causing them to take a break from the fighting to apologize profusely to the poodle. 

After an especially brutal pummeling Viktor threw his hands up in surrender. “Ow! Yuuri! Fine, fine, you win!” He collapsed onto the ground, raising his hand to his forehead. “I can’t believe my Yuuri would hurt me like this,” he sighed as Yuuri rolled his eyes. Viktor lay there, chest rising and falling rapidly, and Yuuri moved to sit down next to him. 

“Are you cold?” Yuuri asked, offering an innocent smile. 

Viktor grinned and mock-punched him in the arm. “I guess I deserved that one.” 

Yuuri laughed and looked down at Viktor. Snowflakes dusted his hair, catching the winter sunlight like tiny jewels. His cheeks were flushed from the cold. Viktor looked back at Yuuri, a lopsided grin on his face that made him look so – 

Stop it. Yuuri chided himself. You can’t.

Could he? 

Liking Viktor Nikiforov should have been simple. After all, hundreds of his fans across the globe were infatuated with him, and they hadn’t even met him! Viktor could light up any room he walked into, he could be ridiculous and smart and funny and absolutely beautiful. 

It was just so easy to fall for him. 

Liking him should have been easy, but it wasn’t. Viktor was a burning star, a brilliant firework display. He burned too brightly for one person to look at. Especially if that one person was Yuuri Katsuki - a dime a dozen young skater with glasses too big for his face who was nothing special. There was no way he could hold a candle to Viktor’s light. 

Mixed with the heady feeling of having a crush was Yuuri’s guilt that he could never be enough for Viktor, he could never be what Viktor - so bright and so precious - really needed. It was easy from afar, but up close… Yuuri didn’t trust himself enough for that. 

He looked at Viktor who was currently giggling and putting up a weak fight against Makkachin as she tried to lick his face. He couldn’t help himself. He melted. 

***

The coffee shop was new, close to the rink, and not too expensive. Warm yellow lights cast a cozy glow over the inside of the shop. Tables for two were set next to the windows overlooking the street. It would be a nice place for a date – warm coffee set against the chilly Russian wind. Laughing in between sips. Reaching out across the small table so their fingers just brushed… 

_ Silly _ . Viktor chided himself. It wasn’t like he had any one to go on a date with anyway. There were plenty of cute boys at the rink but he’d never worked up the nerve to actually talk to any of them. Yuuri couldn’t help him with this either, the other boy would patiently listen for hours as Viktor weighed the merits of potential suitors, but turned into a flustered stammering mess whenever Viktor asked him for advice, or if there was anyone Yuuri was interested in. 

It was unfortunate. There wasn’t anyone except Yuuri he wanted to talk about this stuff with anyway… 

Well. Date or no, the coffee shop still looked cool. Perhaps he could come here with Yuuri sometime - but first, an investigation! Best to stake out the place himself before recommending it to Yuuri, see for himself whether it would be worth a visit. 

A bell chimed as Viktor stepped inside the shop, alerting the barista behind the counter. The boy turned around, running a hand through his dark hair. The first thing Viktor noticed were his arms, lean and well-toned with muscle. They were very nice arms to look at so Viktor took a moment to do just that. He wondered idly if the boy was also a skater, or even a dancer? 

The barista called out a greeting in Russian, sounding bored. Viktor flushed slightly and forced himself to stop staring and move forward. Reluctantly, he tore his gaze away from the other boy and glanced at the drinks menu, trying not to gauge whether the dark-haired boy was looking at him or not. His mind was buzzing, he could hardly comprehend what half the flavors meant. Viktor picked one at random, gathered up his courage, and moved to stand in front of the register. 

Less than a foot of space between them now. Viktor held onto the counter to stop the shaking of his hands. Confidence! Confidence was everything: on the ice, in ballet, even talking to cute boys. Viktor flashed him a winning smile. 

No reaction. The boy looked back at him blankly and asked him what he wanted. Viktor’s heart sank. He placed his order and reached into his pocket to find the money to pay for his drink. Soon, the drink would be ready and the boy would hand it over to him. If he was lucky, their fingers might touch for a second (maybe two if he hesitated), and then Viktor would thank him and leave without even learning the boy’s name. How tragic! No, he couldn’t accept that! He had to try at least. 

_ Confidence, Vitya. _ He thought, steeling himself. 

“My name is Viktor!” Shit. Did he sound over enthusiastic? You didn’t want to come off too strong, even Viktor knew that. Would the other boy think he was weird? 

The boy raised an eyebrow. “Dimitri.” He replied. 

Viktor could have burst into tears of joy right then. Progress! This was the furthest he had ever gotten with any boy, ever! He couldn’t let this chance go to waste. 

“Dimitri!” Viktor said with a smile. He tilted his head, allowing some of his hair to fall gently across his shoulders.  _ Perfect _ . Yuuri had always told him how much he loved Viktor’s long hair – if his friend’s reaction was anything to go by, highlighting his hair was a sure tactic to win Dimitri’s affections. “It’s nice to meet you! I skate at the rink, just over there. Have you been?”

“Oh… no.” Dimitri replied, “I don’t skate.” 

“Oh, that’s too bad…” Yikes. There went his plan of bonding over a mutual interest in skating, but no way was he going to give up now! “You should come over and watch me sometime!” 

“Really?” Dimitri looked up from making his drink, brows furrowed slightly in confusion. 

“Yes! I’m the world champion, you know. I’ve represented Russia a bunch of times!” 

Dimitri raised an eyebrow, looking less bored than he had a moment ago and Viktor’s heart soared. “Champion?” he asked. Viktor nodded and grinned. “Oh… you must be pretty famous.” 

Viktor laughed. “Not yet – but I will be, soon!” 

“I see.” 

“Yeah. So, you should really drop by sometimes.” 

“Got it,” Dimitri replied. “Are you this chatty with everyone who makes you coffee?” 

Viktor tensed. Now or never. “Nope,” he winked, allowing what he hoped was a small smirk to curl his lips, “Only the cute ones.” 

Dimitri paused for just a moment, the palest blush appearing on his cheeks. Viktor mentally congratulated himself.  _ Nailed it. _ Dimitri didn’t seem put off, and didn’t say anything to stop him, so could that mean…?

Dimitri brought his drink to the counter and held it out to him. “Here you go…?” 

“Viktor,” he replied, trying not to feel too disappointed that the other boy had forgotten his name. They had only just met after all – there was still hope! 

“Viktor.” Dimitri replied and then smiled. Smiled! “If your rink is close by, you should drop in here from time to time.”

Viktor’s mouth fell open slightly, and he stared at Dimitri for a few seconds in shock. Was that… did he just…?!

“Y-yes.” Viktor managed to reply, taking his drink. “That would be nice!” 

Dimitri nodded and turned back to the register. “See you, then, next time.” 

“Uh, yes! See you!”

Viktor rushed out of the shop, holding his drink close to his chest. Once outside, he found himself picking up the pace until he was flat out running back home. Next time, he had said. There would be a next time! Viktor didn’t bother trying to hide his grin as he raced inside, leaning against the door behind him and sighing. 

“Vitya? Is that you?” 

“Coach!” he cried out and bounded over to the kitchen where Yakov sat, drinking some tea. “Coach! You will never believe what happened!” 

Yakov looked at him skeptically. “What is it?” 

“I spoke to a cute boy! At a coffee shop! His name is Dimitri and he wanted to see me again! Coach!” Viktor squealed before collapsing into a chair. “Isn’t that exciting? My first ever sort-of date!”

“Sure.” Yakov said with a smile. “I hope you have fun.” 

“I will!” Viktor grinned at him. “Oh! I need to tell Yuuri too… when will he be back from Lilia’s studio, do you think? And I need to pick an outfit… actually, I’m not even sure if it’s a date... Maybe I should take Yuuri too – just in case? Would that be okay?” 

“I’m sure it will be fine.” Yakov replied, sounding amused. “As long as you don’t let this boy distract you from your skating.”

“Of course not! Skating comes first!” They heard the door open and click shut. “Oh, that must be Yuuri!” Viktor got up and hurried over to his friend. Yakov chuckled into his tea.  _ Teenagers _ . 

***

Viktor had a boyfriend. 

It shouldn’t have come as a shock. Yuuri wasn’t blind to the appreciative glances Viktor often got from rink mates his age, male and female alike. Yuuri was also keenly aware of the fact that Viktor was attractive. And Viktor had never  _ objected _ to the attention either – he was a performer through and through. He was at his best when all eyes were on him. 

So, it shouldn’t have been surprising at all. When Viktor had run into their room, hair a mess and eyes sparkling, and said he needed to talk to Yuuri, when a blush crept across his face as he whispered to Yuuri that Dimitri (yes, the one from the coffee shop, you know him) had asked Viktor out on a date, that Viktor had said yes, that they had  _ kissed _ – that shouldn’t have been surprising. But it had felt like someone had unceremoniously dumped a bucket of ice water over Yuuri’s head, like he was shivering and blinking and cold and scared and couldn’t for the life of him figure out why? Why this? Why him? 

Viktor had a  _ boyfriend _ . 

Dimitri from the coffee shop, who, admittedly, Viktor had been speaking about on a regular basis. But hearing about Dimitri “the guy who works at the coffee shop” was very,  _ very _ different to hearing about Dimitri “the guy who was Viktor’s boyfriend”. At first glance, Yuuri thought Dimitri seemed nice. Now he knew better. Dimitri was a conniving little shit whose ulterior motive had been to steal Viktor away from everyone else. 

They had never spent longer than, say, half an hour each time they visited the shop. How the hell did Dimitri know Viktor well enough to call him his boyfriend? Yuuri had been Viktor’s best friend since he was eight and there was still so much he had yet to learn about the other boy. Viktor guarded himself closely, it wasn’t often that he showed his true feelings

Dimitri didn’t help Viktor prepare before every competition. Dimitri didn’t wait for him as he came off the ice. Dimitri had never been around Viktor when he fell into bouts of sullen silence, so unlike his usual effervescent self, and he’d never tried to comfort Viktor when that happened. Dimitri didn’t hold Viktor close through the night when he couldn’t fall asleep because he was crying, sobbing softly to himself with no explanation at all to anyone else. Dimitri didn’t know Viktor, not even a little bit. Not the way Yuuri knew him. 

But he acted like he did. That was the worst part. 

They visited the coffee shop almost everyday after they were done with practice. Yuuri saw Viktor’s face light up as soon as they entered. He laughed at Dimitri’s jokes, resting his hand lightly on the other boy’s (muscled, Yuuri noticed with disappointment) arms. As it turned out, Dimitri was a football player. “He plays for his school team! They won bronze at the last inter school tournament!” Viktor told him excitedly a few days later. Yuuri frowned, wondering how that could possibly be impressive to Viktor who was the current figure skating world champion and would be representing Russia in the upcoming Olympic games, and said so. 

Viktor merely shrugged. “He doesn’t really like talking about skating that much.” He said, sounding almost apologetic. “It’s not his thing.” Yuuri found Viktor’s excuses for Dimitri tiresome. 

Another thing Yuuri found tiresome was the fact that no more than a week after they had started dating, Dimitri accompanied Yuuri and Viktor back home after practice. He claimed that his shift at the coffee shop finished around the same time, so it was just convenient to accompany them. It was probably a nice gesture, but all Yuuri could see was Dimitri’s arm snaking around Viktor’s waist, his fingers playing with Viktor’s hair, Viktor leaning into his touch, completely at ease. 

To his credit, Viktor did try his best to make sure Yuuri didn’t feel left out. He always included Yuuri in the conversation, and acted as a translator when Yuuri’s amateur Russian or Dimitri’s broken English failed to get the point across. But some gaps were more than just mistranslation. Often, Viktor and Dimitri shared a small smile, it was something private to be hidden away from the world and open only for them. Wasn’t that what  _ boyfriends _ did?

While Viktor may have tried to include Yuuri, Dimitri made no such concessions. Whenever they met up, Dimitri only had eyes for Viktor and spared Yuuri only a glance and a gruff hello – if he was lucky. When he wasn’t lucky, half an hour could pass before either of the other boys remembered to acknowledge Yuuri’s existence. Yuuri hated how Dimitri could capture all of Viktor’s attention. He hated how easily Dimitri made Viktor smile or sigh softly to himself throughout the day. How could anyone deserve to occupy so much of Viktor’s thoughts? 

“ _ Someone _ looks very happy this morning!” Mila once said nudging Viktor’s shoulders and raising her eyebrows suggestively as Viktor just smiled that small, secret smile. 

“Yuuuuri!” Viktor sighed that night as he flopped face down onto his bed. “I  _ can’t _ .” 

Yuuri bent down to untie his shoes, trying not to let a flicker of annoyance show on his face. He was fairly sure he knew what Viktor was talking about but he asked anyway, “Can’t what?” 

“Dima!” Viktor all but squealed, pushing himself up onto his elbows as he turned to Yuuri. The other boy’s face was flushed with excitement, eyes sparkling. Yuuri’s heart constricted in his chest momentarily. Damn it Vitya. Damn Dimitri making Viktor look so-

“We went to a sports bar today. He held my hand the whole time! And he’s so cute too Yuuri! He does this thing when he looks at you… he smiles with one side of his mouth lifting up…”

“That sounds nice,” Yuuri replied. Viktor did seem happy. But… “Sports bar?” he asked. 

“Oh yeah – they were playing the match live, football. Dimitri wanted to see it.” 

“Oh, right.” Yuuri couldn’t remember if Viktor had ever invited Dimitri to the rink… whether he had or not, Yuuri had never seen him there, even though the café where the boy worked was close by.

Viktor sighed, smiling dreamily and twirling a lock of hair in between his fingers. “Dimitri said he liked my hair too! He said he thought it was pretty!” 

Yuuri smiled at that. There were plenty of people who narrowed their eyes when they saw Viktor. Most boys his age cropped their hair short and didn’t wear nail polish or mascara. The comments ranged from snide to aggressive, and were sadly something Viktor had got used to over the years. Hearing that Dimitri didn’t share that opinion was… nice. It raised Yuuri’s opinion of the other boy slightly. “Maybe you ask him to come down to the rink.” Yuuri said, trying not to sound grudging. “Go skating together, for fun.”

Viktor grimaced slightly at that. “Ah… well. I don’t think he’d like that. I don’t think he… likes skating.”

Yuuri’s newfound acceptance of Dimitri dissipated quickly. “He doesn’t?” 

Viktor shook his head, looking slightly embarrassed. “Y-yeah. Well. Anyway.” 

Yuuri paused. “You like him a lot.” He did, for whatever reason Yuuri couldn’t possibly fathom. Some things just were. Or in his case, weren’t. 

Viktor’s smile returned slowly and he nodded enthusiastically. “Maybe one day… he’d like to come skating. We can all go skating together then!” 

Yuuri forced a smile. “Of course. That would be great.”

Viktor was happy. That was the only reason Yuuri never spoke ill of Dimitri to Viktor, or to anyone else. Yuuri listened patiently as Viktor waxed poetry about the other boy’s hair or his eyes or some other mundane detail only Viktor could see the beauty in. Maybe this was the way it was meant to be. Maybe he could live with this if it meant Viktor had someone who made him happy. 

Maybe. 

***

Maybe.

What a wonderful word, Viktor thought, so full of hope and optimism! Maybe. Maybe.  _ Maybe _ . His mind buzzed with possibility. Maybe Dimitri would skate with him. Maybe Dimitri would come and watch him skate at a competition. Maybe he would hold his hand in the kiss and cry, and kiss him after he got his scores. 

Could he imagine it? A not so distant future with Dima by his side every step of the way. The two of them connected intrinsically, belonging with each other, belonging to each other. 

_ Love _ . Maybe that wasn’t too much to hope for. Viktor thought of Dimitri holding his hand across the table, his fingers brushing Viktor’s hair aside as he kissed him, the smile that only seemed to show itself for him. Connection. Completion. Meaning. Love. 

Maybe Dimitri would smile and say he always knew Viktor could do it,  _ his _ Vitya. Wasn’t that right? 

***

_ You give them so much of yourself.  _

When Yuuri and Viktor had first met, they had been amateurs at speaking English. However, since it was the language they both had in common, they were forced to speak it often to communicate. Their English skills ended up improved quickly. 

English wasn’t the only language they had in common. With all the time they spent on the ice, skating was in their blood, embedded deep within their souls. On the ice, they could speak each other’s languages as fluently as if it were their own. What Yuuri couldn’t say in words, and what Viktor couldn’t tell him, they could show. 

“Again!” Lilia Baranovaskaya called out. “You are dancing or falling down the stairs? Snova, up!”

Yuuri was spending the day at the dance studio rather than the rink. His choreography was almost finalized, so he would be working privately with Lilia to perfect it off ice. It did mean that he wouldn’t get to see Viktor until late afternoon at least, but on the other hand, it meant that Yuuri could focus on his routine without being distracted by how damn pretty Viktor’s hair was.

With a small sigh, Yuuri rose to his feet once more and took his starting position. The first time she had seen him dance, Lilia had nodded and said, “He will do.” Yuuri had been pleased with the pronouncement. Minako had taught him well. What he didn’t know at the time was that being satisfactory was a prerequisite to being allowed entrance to the studio in the first place, and said nothing for the horrors Lilia would unleash upon her students once within.

“Higher. Higher, Yuuri!” Lilia said, snapping her fingers in time to the music. “And bend back further, you must be graceful. Feel the music inside you!”

Yuuri shut his eyes tight as his muscles screamed in protest. Lilia was hard to please, but he knew he would be thanking her obstinacy in time. He couldn’t outdo his competition in jumps, but Yuuri’s performance score was his strength in every routine he performed. And performance was the only way he would be able to catch up to –

“Stop!” Lilia called suddenly and paused the music. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “You are not paying attention! Your mind isn’t with the music. Go again from the top.”

Yuuri nodded and moved to do as she instructed. Starting position. One arm hanging by his side and the other reaching straight up. The music started and he began to dance.

Yuuri had won several bronze medals in his first junior season – it wasn’t a bad start, but it wasn’t exactly spectacular. Some skaters won their first gold medals in their debut seasons, and came close to smashing several world records in the process (well, by “some skaters” he meant “one skater”, but the bar was high nonetheless). This season, his final one as a junior, would be a chance for him to redeem himself.

Yuuri’s theme for this season was “growth”. It was the story of uphill climbs, and slow changes, so subtle that you only noticed how far you had come when you looked back and could barely see your past self in the distance behind you. It was a story of yearning, constantly reaching for more, maybe more than you could ever have, but striving for it nonetheless. Yuuri’s eyes were closed as he gave himself up to the music, and he didn’t see the small smile grow on Lilia’s face.

“Much better.” She said, sounding pleased. “Stretch. Then we do this again.”

_ Every time, you give so much of yourself…  _

If Viktor was guarded off ice, he was even more so when he was performing. On the ice, he transformed from a boy into whatever character he had to be in the routine. Yet, skating could convey what words were used to hide. Skaters had to bare their hearts to the world when they performed, and Viktor was no exception. 

If Viktor could speak through his skating, then so would Yuuri. After training together for years, they understood each other’s movements, they could read in between each other’s choreography. Yuuri wanted Viktor to trust him, to see him as an equal, someone who could say  _ let me be there for you _ and know they meant it wholeheartedly. What better way to show him that than through their shared mother tongue? 

He would show them, Yuuri vowed to himself. To prove that he wouldn’t forever be living in Viktor’s shadow. That he deserved to stand by Viktor’s side. That he was worthy of calling Viktor Nikiforov  _ his _ .

***

He couldn’t breathe. In the stadium dressing room for the junior world championships, Yuuri sat with his head between his knees, fists clenched beside him as he gasped. His breaths were quick, shallow, insubstantial. Not now, Yuuri pleaded, bracing himself as a fresh wave of anxiety rolled through him, please, please, please. Not now. 

Yakov sat beside him, a hand resting on his shoulder. He was talking, telling Yuuri to relax, deep breaths. On his other side was Viktor who was murmuring something Yuuri couldn’t quite make out. He could hear them certainly, but it felt like his brain had lost the ability to process speech. They may have been speaking in ancient German for all Yuuri could gather. 

Yuuri shut his eyes tight and forced himself to exhale. Inhale. Hold his breath. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. 

It helped, but not much. Still shivering slightly, he sat up a bit straighter to see Viktor looking at him in concern. “Yakov needed to go to do some paperwork.” Viktor explained quickly. “How are you feeling?”

“I… ah.” Yuuri stammered and cringed. There was no way to explain it, not when he was in this state. 

“Hey, hey. Look at me Yuuri.” Viktor knelt down in front of him, placing his hands on Yuuri’s shoulders. “Take deep breaths now… steady. What are you afraid of? There’s nothing you need to be afraid of now…” 

Yuuri nodded to show he understood, still trying to calm his breath. Viktor’s hands were warm and steady on his shoulders. He closed his eyes. Deep breaths. Just breathe. Breathe. However, when Yuuri opened his eyes, he noticed a small frown clouding Viktor’s face. 

“Yuuri…” the other boy said, his voice low. “What is it? Why are you worried?” 

“I might do badly.” Yuuri whispered. “I might mess up.”  _ I might fail, despite all the times I practiced. At this last stage, where it matters most, I might still fail. When everyone is counting on me, I might still fail. When you need me most, sometimes I can just never be enough.  _

Viktor shook his head slightly, looking disapproving. “That makes no sense.” He replied. “You’re a talented skater Yuuri. Not only that, this isn’t your first time at Worlds. This isn’t even the first time you’ve performed this routine – you’ve been scoring well all season. What do you have to fear now? It’s natural to get a little nervous before going out there, and if this were your first competition it would make sense… but now?” 

Yuuri tensed and looked back at Viktor in shock. Viktor’s expression was bordering on harsh… and could Yuuri really blame him for that? Viktor was right about this… it didn’t make sense. Yuuri knew it didn’t make sense - that was the problem! He didn’t have any control over how he reacted…

“You’ve gotten help. You’ve taken the medication. Why are you still anxious, Yuuri?” Viktor continued. “Stop overthinking this. Stop worrying. Okay?” 

“Yuuri.” They both turned to where Yakov stood reaching out his hand. “You will be going on the ice next. Let’s go.” 

Yuuri’s mind was racing even as he stood up and made his way to the rink side. Simply putting one foot in front of the other required Herculean effort. His vision swam. Were they by the ice already? He could barely remember coming here… the previous skater was just finishing up his routine.  _ A final triple axel, very clean, nailed it! _ The commentators crowed as the audience cheered so loud he could barely hear himself think and –

Someone squeezing his hand. It was Viktor. The other boy cast him a worried glance. “Don’t overthink this.” He said once more. 

Yuuri turned away from Viktor, feeling embarrassed. Why would Viktor say something like that? It wasn’t as though Yuuri was trying to make himself anxious. He knew he shouldn’t be so scared. Logically, it made no sense. It was ridiculous.  _ He _ was ridiculous. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.  _ Why are you here? Why would you think you can measure up? _ He had come third in the short program, easily putting him into the free skate. All eyes would be on him. He was one of the favorites to win.  _ Why should they trust you? Look at yourself. _

_ Why should Viktor trust someone like you with anything?  _

Yuuri inhaled sharply. His fears may have been childish, but that was what the routine was all about – showing that he had changed, grown. That was it. That was why he was here. That was what he needed to prove. That he was better than this,  _ stronger _ . Viktor was right – he was being an idiot. 

The previous skater waved from the kiss and cry, apparently having received a high score. Yuuri tuned it out. He slipped off his skate guards and moved onto the ice. He glided to the center of the rink, the sound of his blades slicing the ice in time with his breaths. His heart was still pounding in his chest, but he refused to listen to it.  _ I am better than this. _ He thought, furious at himself for almost forgetting what he needed to do. Despite his racing pulse, Yuuri forced his mind to be still. He was here for a reason. 

The music began, and he lost himself in it. Growth: it was a slow and treacherous path. One filled with stumbles and nasty falls.  _ Triple axel, triple loop combination. Spread eagle into camel spin. _ But he had to keep going, keep going.  _ Move back. Ina Bauer. Quad toe. Biellman spin. Nailed it. Perfect.  _

Yuuri gilded back to the center for his final pose: one foot hooked behind the other, his arms curving upwards. He looked like he was caught mid movement, as if any second now he would spring right back into a spin. Change. Motion. Growth. 

He registered the applause from the crowd, but he had eyes for only one person. 

“Yuuri!” Viktor said ecstatically, hugging him as he came off the ice. “I told you! You were beautiful.” 

_ Beautiful _ . Yuuri flushed suddenly at Viktor’s words before laughing and hugging the other boy back. Had Viktor ever called Dimitri beautiful? Viktor had said he was cute, adorable, pretty. Hm. Satisfaction coiled in Yuuri’s gut as he hugged Viktor tighter. In that case, beautiful was something he had all to himself. 

_ Beautiful _ . 

***

“I can’t drink champagne Vitya!”

“Yuuuuri! Why not? I drank it all the time at banquets!” 

“Yes. You drank a bottle all by yourself the first time you were here and tried to convince Yakov you were a bird. Lucky for you none of the sponsors saw…” 

“I’m sure I was a very elegant bird…” Viktor sighed, as Yuuri shook his head. “You’re the junior world champion,” Viktor continued, “and holder of a new world record! You deserve this.” 

Yuuri flushed at the praise and Viktor smiled at him. Yuuri was always so self-conscious, so nervous about his performance. He still didn’t understand the source of Yuuri’s anxiety, he’d proved himself time and time again, why was he still afraid? It was inexplicable, but it was what it was, and Viktor was happy to shower him with compliments to help combat that. Not that it was hard to do – Yuuri had always been talented, he now also had a world record to prove it! Viktor was a little upset that it was  _ his _ record being broken, but nonetheless, a celebration was in order! That is, it  _ would _ be if Yuuri would let himself celebrate… 

“Vicchan…” 

Viktor rolled his eyes and gave an exaggerated flick of his hair in Yuuri’s direction. “Fine,” he said. Yuuri laughed. 

“I’ll go look for something to eat.” Yuuri told him and disappeared into the crowd. Viktor took a sip of his champagne.  _ Technically _ he was still too young to be drinking too, but he was Russian after all, and the champagne really was something else… 

As the newly minted junior champion, Yuuri would likely have many people who wanted to talk to him: sponsors, judges, other skaters… all trying to size him up and see what he was made of (if any of them had an ounce of sense they would recognize his skill, but Yuuri tended to downplay himself). It did mean that he would take a while to find Viktor again, and till then there was nothing to do but wait. 

_ Unless… _ Viktor’s eyes scanned the crowd before finding a familiar blonde head. It was the young skater who had just made his senior debut at that competition, the one who had greeted Viktor at the GPF a few months ago. He’d come in fourth at worlds, just missing the podium. Impressive. Although, no one seemed to be paying much attention to the boy. Amongst this crowd, he was probably still an unfamiliar face. Viktor watched him shuffle awkwardly in a corner, a glass gripped too tightly in his hands. 

Viktor decided to strike up a conversation with the other boy and strode over to where he was standing. The boy – Chris? Was that his name? – widened his eyes when he recognized Viktor, who smiled back at him magnanimously. “Hi! How are you?”

Chris recovered quickly from his initial shock and returned Viktor’s smile with one of his own. “Viktor! Congratulations on winning gold! Though I’m sure you’re used to hearing that by now…” 

_ A charmer. _ “Thank you. It’s Chris, right?” The boy nodded. “I watched your performance, I really liked it!” Viktor cringed. Was that how you gave feedback to younger skaters who saw you as inspiration? It seemed to do the trick, however. Chris’s eyes gleamed. 

“I guess that means you’ll have to watch out next year.” Chris replied with a wicked grin. 

“We’ll see.” Viktor winked. Competitive, feisty - the young skater was certainly more interesting than he let on. Chris laughed. 

“Anyway… I for one thought you looked stunning out there.” Chris tilted his head back slightly, and smiled sweetly. “No one could take their eyes off you.” 

Viktor blinked. Did he mean…? The light flush that grew on Chris’s cheeks confirmed his suspicions. So… that meant that Chris also liked boys! Wow! Viktor’s heart sped up a little bit, thrilled at finding someone else. As accepting as the world was, there was still  _ just _ enough vitriol left in people’s hearts that one had to be careful with what one shared with the rest of the world. But here was Chris, telling him freely. It made Viktor feel more relieved than he cared to admit. 

He laughed. “Why, thank you Chris.” He replied, offering the other skater a generous smile of his own. “But you know who I couldn’t stop watching? Noel Taylor.”

“The silver medalist? From America?”

“Mmhm.”

Chris gave it a moment of thought before nodding, approving of Viktor’s taste. “Yeah, you’re right about that Viktor.”

“Right? When he stood next to me and actually smiled at me I almost died!”

Chris giggled. “I can imagine.” He let out an exaggerated sigh. “It’s rather sad… I don’t have any experience with guys whatsoever myself.” 

“Aw, don’t worry Chris.” Viktor patted his shoulder sympathetically. “I’m sure your prince is out there somewhere waiting for you.”

“I hope so…” Chris’s grin returned with a teasing tone in his voice. “But what about  _ you _ ? Does Viktor Nikiforov have any stories to share?” 

“Actually I…” Viktor could feel himself blushing and bit his lip in frustration. Containing his excitement, however, was a futile task. He gave in and let a grin spread across his face. “I have a boyfriend!” he said, lowering his voice slightly so as not to capture anyone’s attention. 

Chris’s eyes lit up in glee and he clasped Viktor’s hands. “You  _ do? _ Oh, Viktor! What’s he like?”

Viktor liked Chris exponentially more after he asked that question. He could only gush about Dima to Yuuri for so long after all… “Well…” Viktor began, leaning down towards Chris and whispering. “First of all, he’s  _ so _ cute. He has this dark hair that’s kind of floppy, you know, and it just falls across his forehead… and his eyes! They’re brown, but in the light they sparkle and light up his entire face.” 

Chris gasped, a dreamy smile appearing on his face. Encouraged by this reception, Viktor continued. “And he’s so sweet and romantic too! He walks me home after practice, and he’s always bringing me little treats and stuff…” 

“There you are! I got us food!” Yuuri approached them bearing a small plate filled with various hors d’oeuvres, he was followed by two other skaters Viktor didn’t recognize. “Hi Chris!” 

“Oh – do you know each other…?” Viktor asked. 

Yuuri nodded. “Chris and I shared the podium several times last season.” 

“I didn’t realize you were  _ friends _ with Viktor!” Chris said to Yuuri, mock betrayal on his face. “I would have asked you to make introductions!”

Yuuri laughed and rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. “Ah…sorry!” The girl standing next to him poked Yuuri in the arm and giggled. 

“You can make amends by introducing us!” she said, flashing Viktor a smile as the boy glowered at both of them. Viktor looked at them properly for the first time. The resemblance was striking – lightly tanned skin, dark hair, and striking eyes, the blue so deep it almost looked purple. 

“Oh right – this is Sara and Michele,” Yuuri said. “They both made their junior debuts this season.”

Viktor and Chris greeted them both. They were twins apparently, which explained the similarities between them but not Michele’s apparent dislike for the lot of them. Sara was excited and outgoing, chatting happily with Yuuri and Chris but for some reason her brother seemed wary of them, and often shuffled closer to his sister. Shy, perhaps? Viktor wondered. 

_ A problem for another day,  _ he decided, turning back to Yuuri who was in the middle of retelling a story about their rink mates. His eyes sparkled with laughter and he moved his hands animatedly as he spoke. Yuuri was normally so reserved… it was nice seeing him like this, so comfortable around other people. Usually he was only like this with Viktor. Did this mean that Yuuri’s anxiety was getting better? He’d have to ask later… but for now, he simply joined in, laughing and adding on details at the right moments. 

A short while Yuuri and Sara had decided to go in search of more food and Michele announced that he would accompany them, throwing dagger stares at Yuuri who seemed blissfully oblivious to the other boy’s ire. As Viktor watched them leave, he heard Chris call out to him, his tone light and teasing. “Soooo, this boyfriend of yours…” 

“Yeah?” Viktor grinned, more than willing to continue talking about cute boys with Chris. 

“I agree. He’s really cute, like,  _ really _ cute.” Chris wiggled his eyebrows for emphasis. “I think both of you make a great couple.” 

Viktor blinked in confusion. “Thank you but… I haven’t even shown you a photo of him yet. How…?” 

Chris looked at him, equally confused, vaguely pointing a finger into the crowd. “Wasn’t that… Yuuri?” 

Viktor frowned. “Yes, that was Yuuri. He went to get us some more food.”

Chris’s mouth dropped open slightly. “Viktor… wait… you mean Yuuri’s  _ not _ your boyfriend?” 

Viktor’s eyes widened. “You thought  _ Yuuri _ was my  _ boyfriend _ ?” 

“Well- yes? I mean, he fit your description and with the way you were around him… and the way he was looking at you… it seemed obvious!” 

“N-no!” Viktor protested. “He’s not – we… um. We’re just friends!” 

Chris raised an eyebrow. “If you insist.” 

“W- What’s that supposed to mean?!” 

“It just doesn’t  _ feel _ that way.”

“Why doesn’t… what do you mean,  _ feel _ ?”

Chris looked back at him with all the knowing wisdom of a fifteen-year-old. “Some things I can just tell.” 

Viktor sighed and shook his head. “You’re wrong on this one though. Yuuri and I –“

“They’re out of canapés!” Yuuri had returned, his shoulders drooping sadly. “I really wanted to try one…” 

“Aw, better luck next time Yuuri.” Chris said as Yuuri pouted.

_ Really cute. _ Chris’s words. About Yuuri. Huh. Viktor cocked his head lightly, considering. 

Objectively speaking… he wasn’t  _ wrong _ . Yuuri was pretty cute, and Chris wasn’t the only one who thought so. Plenty of girls at the rink had tried to get his number, yet Yuuri had been woefully unaware of the fact that he was being hit on. It usually ended with the girl walking away in disappointment, Viktor giggling from the sidelines, and Yuuri looking on in bewilderment. 

What had Chris meant by “the way he was looking at you”? How else was Yuuri supposed to look at him? Yuuri was his best friend, of course they were close. Maybe even close enough to be mistaken for a couple… ha… that was strange. He wondered what Dima would think of that...

…On second thoughts, Dima might not like the implications of that thought, even if Viktor meant it in a completely innocent way. He was moody like that, sometimes.  _ Like now _ . Viktor checked his phone discreetly. He’d texted Dima earlier that night, and there was still no reply.  _ It must be the time difference… he’ll see it soon! _

Dima was cute. Very cute. Cute boys were worth the trouble in Viktor’s opinion. He could go a little while without talking to his boyfriend, no problem. He could also push what Chris had said about Yuuri to the back of his mind. No problem at all. None.

***

When Dima did reply, it was much, much later, in the small hours of the night when Viktor should have been asleep. His eyes snapped fully open when he heard his phone buzz on the nightstand. He sat up in bed to unlock it, moving slowly in case he woke Yuuri. 

Dima <3: congrats Vitya 

Dima <3: missed seeing u this week… when will u be back

Viktor’s heart skipped and he pressed a hand against his mouth to contain his delight. Dima missed him! Wanted him back! Had congratulated him too! 

Cute boys were  _ so _ worth the trouble, Viktor thought to himself as he tapped out a reply. 

Me: thank you!!!! ♡(.◜ω◝.)♡

Me: I can’t wait to see you again!!! 

Me: when can we meet up?? We should go on another date as soon as I get back!!!

Me: I’m going to sleep now Dima, good night!!! ♡ lets talk tomorrow :>

Viktor bit his lip. Had that been too much? Dima had taken so long to respond… he might have been busy with something. Oh well, too late for that now. Viktor set his phone down. Dimitri had responded, and he had missed Viktor! That was perfect on its own. 

As he settled under the covers once more, Viktor turned to where Yuuri slept on the other side of the room. He still couldn’t believe Chris had thought they were dating. Ha! Yuuri was his best friend, and had been for years. Thinking of him as anything would be… weird. Right? He was so different from Dima too… soft and shy where Dima was sure of himself, imbued with delicate grace while Dima tended towards force and strength. 

Viktor shook his head. Weird. That’s all it was.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> the title for this chapter is a lyric from "I'll be seeing you" by Billie Holliday
> 
> please leave a comment/kudos if you liked this! or hang out on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/alexfinallywrites)
> 
> the next chapter is in the works and I will update soon! :)
> 
> till then xx
> 
> Edit: the end notes from chapter one keep showing up at the end of every chapter for some reason and I have no idea how to fix that??? Sorry about that everyone!!

**Author's Note:**

> Aww look at them being all supportive of each other! I wanted to use this chapter to establish their friendship, and essentially show how they depend on each other for support. Hence the chapter title, which is taken from The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini (I love his work ughh) and encapsulates the friendship between two of the main characters. The title of this fic is a lyric from You'd Be So Nice To Come To by Sarah Vaughn.
> 
> Chapter 2 will hopefully be up in a week, lockdown gives me a lot of time to write lmao. 
> 
> PLEASE leave kudos and comments if you enjoyed this!! I'd love to hear what you guys thought! I'm really enjoying writing this and wanna share that with y'all so feel free to comment or hit me up on  Tumblr (alexfinallywrites)  to chat! Never learned how to shut tf up so, I'll probably be posting about different scenes that I especially enjoyed writing on there too! :)


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